Two years ago, my wife Anna walked out on me and our four-year-old twins after I lost my job. She left with just a suitcase and the words, “I can’t do this anymore.” I stood there, holding Max and Lily, wondering how to explain to two children why their mother had vanished. The first year nearly broke me. I worked nights driving and days delivering groceries, barely sleeping, all while raising two kids who cried for their mom. My parents helped where they could, but it was still a constant battle just to stay afloat.
Then, slowly, things turned around. A freelance coding project became a full-time remote job, and soon we had stability again. We moved into a smaller but cozy apartment, I started taking care of myself, and the kids blossomed in their new routine. For the first time since Anna left, we were happy. And then I saw her. She was sitting alone in a café, head down, tears streaking her face.
Gone was the polished, confident woman I had married. She looked tired, worn, and fragile. When our eyes met, she whispered, “I made a mistake. I want to come back.” But as I listened, I realized she never once asked about Max and Lily. Not once. Her words were about her loneliness, her regrets, her losses.
My answer was calm but firm: “You made your choice. We’ve built a good life without you.” That evening, as I watched my kids laugh over dinner and proudly show me their drawings, I knew I’d made the right decision. They had one parent who would never walk away—and that was enough.
