I boarded that cruise hoping to leave my heartbreak behind and figure out who I was without my husband. I never imagined the answers I’d been desperately searching for would come from a man I’d never expected to see again.
Three weeks had passed, and I still sat in the same chair every morning, staring at the exact spot where Marcus had placed those papers.
Twenty-two years of marriage had been reduced to one evening when he came home from work, placed a manila folder on the kitchen table, and said one sentence.
“I don’t think we’re meant to grow old together.”
That was what my husband said. No shouting. No tears. And no known affairs.
I honestly thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
When I begged him to explain why, he repeated, “We’ve grown apart. We’ve become too different.”
Then I heard the click of the porch light switch as he walked out.
