One of the guests said it with genuine admiration.
Michael put his arm around my shoulder, his smile perfectly natural. I could feel his hand, stiff and cold as a rock, against my back. Later, back in the hotel room, he dropped his arm the second the door closed.
“That was exhausting, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. It was.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the absurdity of it all.
“Michael, how much longer do we have to keep this up?”
“Until we can’t anymore.”
He took off his suit jacket and lay down on the sofa.
“I’m used to it.”
Those two words—used to it—were like a dagger in my heart.
In 2015, our grandson Noah was born. Michael even helped choose his name. With a grandchild, we found a few new topics of conversation. We would discuss Noah’s milestones, pick out toys for him, and laugh together during video calls.
“Grandma.”
Noah would coo at the phone screen.
“That kid looks just like Jake did.”
Michael remarked on it one day from beside me. It was the first unsolicited personal comment he had made to me in years.
“Really?”
I asked carefully, testing the waters.
“Was Jake this smiley as a baby?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded once, then said no more.
Still, that brief exchange gave me a sliver of hope. Maybe time really could heal. Maybe we had a chance. I was wrong. During Thanksgiving that year, Jake’s family came to visit. For once, the mood was warm.
“Mom, Dad, are you two doing okay? Health-wise, I mean?”
Sarah asked with genuine concern.
“We’re great.”
I smiled.
“That’s good. Honestly, I’ve always admired you two. Married so long and still so in love.”
Before I could respond, Jake slammed his fork down.
“Mom, stop acting.”
His voice was cold.
“Sarah doesn’t know, but I do. You two haven’t been husband and wife for years. You’re just putting on a show for everyone.”
The air went still.
“Jake.”
Michael’s tone was low, a warning.
“Dad, you stop too. I’m twenty-eight years old, not a child. Do you have any idea how suffocating it’s been, watching you two live like this? Do you think I couldn’t see it?”
Sarah was horrified, tugging at his sleeve.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry, Sarah.”
Jake turned to his wife.
“I’ve been hiding this from you. My parents’ marriage is a sham. They’ve stayed together for appearances.”
“Jake.”
I stood up, tears already welling.
“Mom, don’t cry.”
His voice softened.
“I know you regret it. I know you’ve been trying to make up for it all these years. But what about Dad? Has he been happy? Have you ever thought about that? What’s the point of going on like this? It would be better to just get a divorce and start over. Dad’s only forty-seven. You’re only forty-seven. You both still have a lot of life to live.”
“That’s enough.”
