Mia brings Ruby around the island, and my little one reaches her arms out to me. I step into the space between her little limbs, and she wraps them around my neck, letting go of Mia with her legs and locking them around my waist as she clings to me like a spider monkey. And suddenly, the morning doesn’t seem as bad as it had just moments ago.
A week later, I sit at the bar, counting my tips from the night. Somewhere in the restaurant, I hear the sound of Winston sweeping, and just knowing he’s here with me brings a sense of comfort. I don’t know what it is about this man, but his presence has a calming effect on me, even if at the same time he sets off a tornado of butterflies in my stomach that has only gotten more intense since the actual tornado he kept me safe during.
We’re the last ones here. I let the other girls go home earlier, knowing there would probably be a day I’d need them to do my closing duties if my kids ever needed me home. They’re with Mike tonight, and the knowledge that they won’t be there when I get home is making me a little sick to my stomach. This is the second time they’ve spent the night away from me, and it’s making me not want to even go home.
I came to a conclusion last week, the first time I went home to a house empty of my babies.
I want a divorce.
The final thread was cut after I spoke to Mia that morning after Mike told me he got his own apartment. Any lingering fibers of hope holding my marriage together are severed, and now I’m just done. I told him Sunday when he brought home the girls that I want a divorce, and the look in his eyes—relief mixed with a little bit of stubbornness—solidified my decision. He was done with me and our marriage, no question. I didn’t even need to ask if he wanted to try therapy. I could see it would’ve been a wasted breath.
But the stubbornness I sensed…. Even now, I feel the hot wave of rage filling my gut. That motherfucker refuses to put up the cash for the divorce. Even though he was the one who cheated, the one who moved out and got his own apartment, and even though he’s the one who ruined our ten-year marriage, he’s refusing to pay for the divorce. And on top of that, he won’t give me a reason, making me feel crazy.
“I think it’s time we file for divorce,” I state once the girls are inside and I’ve closed the door, Mike and I standing on the front porch of what was once our family home.
His look shutters, his jaw clenching, and my brow knits in confusion. He seems relieved that I’ve come to this conclusion, but at the same time, he seems stoic about the subject. “If that’s what you want,” he replies, confusing me even more.
“What do you mean if it’s what I want? You’re the one who just moved into your own place instead of even mentioning the idea of… I don’t know, marriage counseling.” My teeth click together at that, and I want to punch myself for admitting that had even crossed my mind.
I want to seem strong, like I don’t give a shit about him, the way he does me. I don’t want him to think I’m sitting at home pining over him, praying that he’ll come back to me. Because while I might’ve thought it was a possibility we could try to work things out, in my heart of hearts, I didn’t really want that to happen. In all of this, one thing was always true—I’m not in love with Mike. I haven’t been for a very long time. But he’s the father of my children, and I made a vow to honor him until death parted us, so I was willing to look past the fact that I didn’t love him anymore, because I was at least content in my life, even without a marriage full of passion.
“If you want a divorce, then it’s on you, Cece. I won’t be paying for it. We’ve got a good thing going right now. I’m paying child support and for half the mortgage. You still get to be on my insurance and only have to come up with enough to pay for the other half of the house and then the utilities. But if you want a divorce, it’ll be up to you,” he told me, spinning on his heel and making his way to his car without a backward glance.
Not that it mattered. I was so flabbergasted I wouldn’t have known what to say to that. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he would’ve wanted to stay married to me even though he had no desire to be my husband.