Andrew Adedayo Adetoye
Lead Host
How many months or years in the making? I don't know; I feel duped. I guess I let myself be.
My husband, typically passive, decided. He sat with it, absorbed it, and lived it for months, maybe longer. He pretended, laughing at family dinners, fathering, cuddling, kissing, celebrating my birthday, Christmas, changing jobs, and making other major life decisions. He didn't want to face it, I guess. He's not devious. He's scared.
But he was cold. It was a 20-minute conversation delivered in a familiar emotionless tone. It was a sucker punch to the gut. "I don't love you anymore. I'm done. I've only stayed because of a promise." Well then, 17 years and two kids.
Because of who I am, I talked about wanting to make the marriage work. But his resolve was steelier than ever, and his words were sharp.
I finally said: "OK. I don't want this, but if you do, then that's it." Did he expect me to try to talk him out of it?
He wanted to wait to tell the boys. He wanted to stay in the house for a few more months, keep up a front, maintain an "intact household." That's denial. The players may be there; intact is something else entirely. I don't pretend.
"No," I said. "You chose this. I won't pretend, watching you make nice with our sons while I crumble and we both sit in a big pile of denial shit. You want this? You got it." And, although I'm hurt and angry, I want my children to feel safe in their home, at peace. And I want all of us to be happy. And, we weren't.
We told them gently, said all the right things -- it's not your fault, we love you, we need to be apart right now. I know what it's like to hear parents badmouth each other year after agonizing year. I won't do it to my children.
I held my younger son for an hour after his father left for a nearby motel. He keened; inconsolable. "I want Daddy back. Bring him back." My chest imploded.
My older boy said, "Mom, I know you're going to deny it but this sounds like divorce."
"We don't know right now, Daddy and I need to live apart. You've seen the stress; it's not healthy. We'll talk about it anytime. You can ask anything, of me or Dad."
And later, on night one, the sweet older brother holding his weeping "little baby boy" brother cooing "It's OK, baby, it's OK."
I'm their mom. I have to ride this storm with them. Meanwhile, I'm riding my own; gutted.
In the 48 hours that followed, I raged a shit-storm of emotions including shock, sadness, fear, anger, regret, relief, and exhaustion.

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