Her name was Priya. Calm voice. Sharp eyes.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
I told her everything. The kidney. The affair. The sister.
“I want out.”
She didn’t look shocked, which was both comforting and depressing.
“Do you want to try counseling?” she asked. “Or are you done?”
“I’m done,” I said. “I don’t trust him. I don’t trust her. I want out.”
“Then we move,” she said. “Fast.”
We separated. He moved into an apartment. I stayed in the house with the kids.
I gave them the age-appropriate version.
“This is about grown-up choices. Not you.”
“Dad and I are not going to live together anymore,” I told them at the kitchen table. “But we both love you very much.”
Ella stared at her hands.
“Did we do something wrong?” she whispered.
My heart cracked.
“No,” I said. “This is about grown-up choices. Not you.”
