Giving Up The Perfect Family

I came home for the Memorial Day weekend, but my son was sullen, barely looking at me.

Davis tried to soothe me, his voice low and practiced. Hes just not used to having you around, Jo. Give him a second to adjust.

A sharp pang of guilt twisted in my gut. Toby was ten now. For every one of those ten birthdays, Id been stuck in holiday traffic or chained to my desk, chasing the double-pay overtime. This year, Id pulled a fast one on both of them, taking the time off in secret just to surprise them.

I turned to the counter and brought out the cake Id spent all morning preparing. Looking at Tobys soft, flushed cheeks, I felt like I was melting from the inside out.

"Make a wish, sweetie," I whispered.

Then, my ten-year-old son yelled his wish loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

"I wish Mom was still stuck on the highway and never came back!"

He didn't stop there. "Then Dad and Auntie Ursula could take me to the theme park instead."

The candles flickered out. The room plunged into a suffocating darkness. My hand hovered over the light switch, but it felt like it was made of lead. I couldn't move.

Then, a pair of cold hands covered mine.

The lights hummed back to life. It was Davis.

His breath was heavy, his hand sliding slowly from the switch to my cheek, giving it a light, patronizing squeeze. "Jo, its just Ursula."

"You remember her. My intern from back in the day? Shes at the firm with me now."

His skin was cold, and he carried the faint, briny scent of a seafood dinner. I remembered the company retreat last yearhe had been so careful to remind everyone that Ursula was allergic to mangoes. But hed forgotten that I was the one allergic to shellfish. Looking at the table, I realized this dinner hadn't been made for me at all.

His voice trembled slightly. "Honey, whats that look for? You don't trust me?"

I forced my head up, meeting his expressiona calculated mix of helplessness and practiced innocence.

The front door clicked open a second later. Ursula walked in.

She moved with a terrifying familiarity, the way she handled the keys, the way she stepped into the foyershe looked more like the mistress of this house than I did.

Toby shrieked with joy and threw himself into her arms. "Auntie Ursula!"

My chest felt like it was being crushed by a physical weight. Ursula caught my eye and looked momentarily flustered. She made a half-hearted attempt to push Toby back, but he clung to her like a burr.

I watched him. Since Id walked through the door, he hadn't given me so much as a smirk. Now, he was giving her every ounce of sunshine he possessed.

"Jocelyn..." Ursula started.

I said nothing. Davis stood beside her, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"I believe you guys," I said, my voice eerily calm.

I began to slice the cake with deliberate precision. In the past, I always held back, waiting for Davis and Toby to finish so I could scavenge the leftovers. Not today. I cut a massive, decadent slice for myself.

Toby scowled. He reached over and scooped a large blueberry off my plate with his finger. "I want the berries."

I didn't flinch. I picked up my fork, speared a blueberry, and ate it. For ten years, I had deferred. For ten years, I hadn't realized that a simple blueberry could taste so sharp, so real.

Toby burst into a theatrical wail.

Davis slammed his spoon down. "Jocelyn, for Gods sake, knock it off."

"I explained everything to you, didn't I? If you're mad at me, fine, but don't take it out on a child."

"So," I said, chewing slowly, "you think I don't even deserve a piece of fruit in my own house?"

His Adam's apple bobbed. "If thats how you want to see it, I cant stop you. I just thought, as his mother, youd be willing to give a little."

I just stood there.

Suddenly, the last ten years of my marriage felt like a bad punchline. When he wanted a kid, I had to quit my job. I should give a little. When he got transferred, I had to move three thousand miles away from my family. I should give a little. And now, even over a blueberry, I was expected to yield.

Ten years.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him what I actually was to him. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, the click-clack of his lighter punctuating the silence. Smoke curled around his face, blurring his features. He inhaled deeply, exhaling a long, grey cloud.

We sat in that silence until the cigarette burned down to the filter. He dropped it on the hardwood and ground it out with his shoe. His chest was heaving.

"What do you want, Jocelyn? Its his birthday. I don't want to fight."

I pressed my lips together. I felt like I was looking at a stranger. He asked me what I wanted? How was I supposed to keep playing the role of the devoted, selfless wife? Was I supposed to "give" him and my son away too?

For a few minutes, I considered going nuclear. I wanted to scream for a divorce, tell him he could keep the kid, keep the house, keep everything. But then I looked at Toby. The boys face was already etched with a cold, clear resentment toward me.

I swallowed the words. I wasn't so delusional that I thought motherly love could fix this now. For ten years, I had "given" enough. I decided I would fulfill my role as a mother one last time before the end. I didn't want his last memory of me to be a screaming match.

Because soon, I wouldn't be his mother anymore.

Without a word, I stood up and walked to our bedroom.

Tobys voice drifted down the hall, high-pitched and excited. "Dad! Shes gone! Can we go to the park with Auntie Ursula now?"

Davis didn't answer. But his silence said everything.

Back in the room, I was calmer than I expected. I didn't realize I could be this coldcoldly packing a suitcase, coldly googling family lawyers.

And then, I saw it. Daviss work phone, sitting right there on the nightstand.

In ten years, I had never doubted him. I never checked his messages. I never questioned the late nights. He used to joke about it: "Jo, do you even love me? You never check up on me." My friends called me naive. My sisters told me to wake up.

But the truth was, I knew. Even in our first year of marriage, Id caught a glimpse of a video he sent Ursula while he was drunk. It was a ten-minute clip. I saw the thumbnaila photo of them togetherand I had closed it instantly, buried it deep. I wasn't stupid. I was just terrified that if I looked too closely, Id lose the only life I had.

Now, ten years later, I opened that hidden account. The messages had been scrubbed, but the "Burner" contact was still pinned to the top. My hand shook as I tapped the screen.

A video started playing.

It was the first time Id ever seen Davis look that happysun-drenched and carefree. He was holding her in his arms at the university where theyd met. The video cut through scenes of them in the grass, the cafeteria, a motel room, the library.

They were holding hands. They were talking late into the night. He was kissing the small mole on the back of her neck.

I watched for the entire night.

One thousand, three hundred and thirty-eight photos.

They had loved each other so effortlessly while I was busy building a home out of scraps. My eyes burned, tears finally leaking out of the corners.

Ding.

A notification popped up. A "Special Interest" alert from Daviss Instagram.

Ursula had posted: [Surrounded by the one I love and the one who loves me.]

It was a grid of nine photos. They were at the theme park with Toby. Tobys hand was resting naturally on Ursulas face; Davis was holding a bucket of popcorn. They looked like a perfect, natural family.

I turned the phone off and put it back exactly where I found it. I acted as if I were still stuck on that highway, just like the nine years before.

I left. I took the cheapest Greyhound bus out of town. I could have afforded better, but I was used to making do with less.

It was a five-hour trip on a hard seat. Traffic turned it into twelve. I cried for all twelve of those hours. I learned that you really can run out of tears until theres nothing left but a dry, ragged wheeze in your throat.

When I reached my destination, I took a cold shower. My reflection was unrecognizable. My eyes were swollen slits; the lines on my face were deep trenches. I wasn't young anymore. I was thirty-two, worn down by a decade of being a ghost in my own life.

I was terrified. If I divorced him, where would I go?

I stepped out of the bathroom. My phone lit up.

You're home early?

I didn't respond. More pings followed.

Why didn't you tell me?

Answer me!

I sent back a short "Yeah."

He sent three or four voice notes. I didn't listen to them. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. Every Memorial Day for the last decade, he had gone back "home" three days early and come back a day late. Seven days total.

The night before, I had scrolled through Ursulas entire feed. Her top ten posts were from the last ten Memorial Day weekends. While he was telling me to work overtime for our "future," he was taking our son on a honeymoon with her.

I tossed and turned, the scent of Davis still lingering on my skin, making me sick.

The next morning, I packed the rest of my things and sent in my resignation. I looked around at the relics of my life. This sweaterDavis bought it for me when I was pregnant. Id wanted it for months, and he finally got it for me at 25% off as a "reward" for quitting my job. Id been too afraid to wear it, keeping it tucked away like a treasure.

The family photoToby was two, at the aquarium. A jellyfish he caught had died, and hed cried in my arms for hours. Shortly after that, Id moved across the country for Daviss career, and Toby had never held me that tightly again.

The dried flowersToby had bought them for my birthday when he was five. Id spent hundreds of dollars having them professionally framed.

The diamond ringour seventh anniversary.

I labeled every single item with the date and the memory. Maybe if I were just a little more grateful, a little more foolish, I could still be happy.

But I was done. I threw every single one of those items into the trash bags. I hauled them down to the dumpster myself.

On the third day, Davis sent flowers. The card was covered in tiny, desperate handwriting. I didn't read it.

On the fourth day, he carpet-bombed my phone with calls. I didn't pick up.

On the fifth day, Davis came back early.

When he opened the door and saw me sitting on the sofa, looking "normal," he let out a massive sigh of relief. He was sweating, his shirt clinging to his back. Hed clearly rushed home.

"Jo, I'm so sorry."

The words startled me. But then I realizedit was just a "sorry." Hed said it so many times before. Sorry I almost died during Toby's delivery. Sorry you had to quit your dream job. And now, sorry Im having a decade-long affair.

"Okay," I said quietly.

He walked over and tried to wrap his arms around me from behind. "Honey, don't be mad. Ursula and I... were strictly professional. I didn't come home because I wanted to give Toby some extra time. Thats all."

A wave of nausea hit me so hard I felt it in my teeth. I shoved him off, ran to the bathroom, and retched.

--------

That night, we slept in separate rooms. I took the bedroom; he took the sofa. To him, this was just another fight, another storm he could weather with enough "sorrys."

He didn't know I had a train ticket for the next morning. If he hadn't come home early, he wouldn't have seen me at all.

I didn't sleep. The house was so quiet I could hear him breathing in the living room. At 5:00 AM, I opened the door. The sound woke him slightly. He rubbed his eyes, then closed them again. He didn't think I would actually leave.

I boarded the Amtrak heading south. An hour in, I realized how fast the world moves when you aren't stuck on a bus.

Ding. A message from Davis.

Jo, where are you?

I just needed some space, I lied.

I didn't want to hear his "innocent" explanations anymore. I turned off the phone.

I reached the city, found a small rental, and told no one.

Every day, Davis messaged me: What are you eating? Where are you? When are you coming back?

I gave him one-word answers.

On the fourth day, a notification popped up on my Facebook. Ursula was requesting to message me. I hit "Accept" like a glutton for punishment.

She sent a message about Toby. Toby had gotten into a fight at school and knocked out a classmates tooth. The school had called the parents. Toby had given them Ursulas number.

Ursulas voice note sounded annoyed. "Jocelyn, look, about Toby... you really need to come back and handle this, okay?"

"Call his father," I replied. My voice was dead.

In the background, I heard Toby screaming. "I don't want her! Tell her not to come back! I hate her!"

My heart felt like it had been punched. I waited until the ringing in my ears stopped, then I said, "Ursula, put Toby on."

"I won't talk to her! I don't want her! Shes not my mom!"

"Toby!" I shouted.

The line went quiet. He sounded startled. In ten years, I had never raised my voice to him.

"Toby, listen to me. Starting today, I am not your mother. Anything that happens at school, anything that happens in your lifedon't call me. Call your father. Do you understand?"

I said it again, slower this time. "From now on, I am not your mother."