“Complicated” — The Word That Broke Everything
Ethan didn’t even try to come up with a good lie.
“It started at that family party… a few months ago,” he muttered. “We didn’t mean for it to—”
“You didn’t mean for it to what?” I snapped. “Happen? Continue? Turn into this?”
I gestured around the room — our bed, our pictures, our life.
“You’ve been coming into my house, around my son, lying to my face.”
Stella was crying. “Josh, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. It just… it got complicated.”
“Complicated.” I repeated it like it was poison. “That’s what you’re calling this?”
Neither of them had an answer.
“Get out,” I said.
Everything after that blurred — lawyers, paperwork, separating accounts, finding another place to live. Quiet, painful conversations where I tried to explain to Liam why Mommy and Daddy didn’t live together anymore, without dumping adult ugliness on a five-year-old.
I filed for divorce. We now have shared custody. I built my entire life around the days I have with my son.
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