As if forty-two years of shared life could be dismantled like a business contract.
“Robert, can you come home so we can talk face-to-face?” I pleaded. “Please.”
“I won’t be coming home. I’ve moved into an apartment downtown. My lawyer will contact you about property division.”
The call ended.
I stood in the kitchen where I had cooked breakfast for this man nearly every morning of our marriage, holding a phone that suddenly felt heavier than anything I had ever carried. I sank into the chair where Robert had been sitting just hours earlier, commenting on the weather and sipping his coffee.
How had I missed this?
How had my marriage ended while I was buttering his toast?
“Grandma Kathy?”
Emily stood in the doorway, her dark hair in the pigtails I had braided that morning. Her young face was tight with concern—an expression no child should have to wear.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” I said softly. “Just reading some papers.”
“You look sad,” she said. “Is it about Grandpa Robert?”
The question startled me.
“Why would you ask that?”
She climbed onto the chair beside me and took my hand.
“He’s been acting strange. He talks on the phone and hangs up fast when you come in. And last week, a lady came to the house when you were at the store. Grandpa told me not to tell you.”
My stomach dropped.
“What lady?”
“The pretty one with yellow hair. They sat in Grandpa’s office and talked a long time. He said it was work stuff.”
Cold spread through my chest as understanding took shape.
This wasn’t sudden.
It had been planned.
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