He hesitated.
And this doubt was more eloquent than any confession.
"I don't know.
"I know one thing," I replied firmly. "I can't live like this."
That night we slept in separate rooms.
The next morning, I followed my usual routine.
I took Daniel and Ethan to the train station.
But this time, when Daniel got out of the car, I looked at him one last time like a husband.
"This evening we will talk about lawyers."
No incidents were reported on the platform.
A simple tense nod.
The process was not easy.
There have been discussions.
There were tears.
Attempts at reconciliation took place belatedly.
"It was a mistake," Daniel insisted. "We can fix it."
But I had already crossed an invisible line.
I couldn't forget what I had seen.
I couldn't erase the image of my dress on another body.
I couldn't ignore the fear in my son's voice.
I decided to stay in the house temporarily while Daniel moved into an apartment.
Not for convenience.
But for Ethan's stability.
We will explain it to you together, in simple terms.
"Mom and Dad are going to live in different houses," Daniel said.
Ethan looked at us in silence.
"Is it on the lady's account?"
The silence was devastating.
"Yes," I replied gently.
Ethan looked down.
"I didn't want to say anything because Dad said you'd be sad."
I knelt before him.
"Telling the truth is never a mistake.
Daniel couldn't hold his son's gaze.
The following months were devoted to a slow process of reconstruction.
There were days when the house seemed too big.
Days when I doubted my decision.
