Two years ago, Anna ripped our family apart, suitcase in hand, spitting, “I can’t do this,” as I cradled our twins, Max and Lily. She left me gutted, no second look, after my tech job vanished—company bust in a shady mess, six figures to scraps overnight. In our pricey city, her exit hit hard. I’d spilled the news, hoping for her strength, but got a glare instead. She was my rock—marketing ace, always pristine, even radiant birthing our kids. I never saw her quitting on us coming. That first year was brutal—alone, strapped, juggling gig driving and deliveries while the twins begged for Mommy. I fumbled answers for their four-year-old hearts, grateful my parents could watch them, though their fixed income stayed tight. Max and Lily’s cuddles and “Love you, Daddy” kept my head above water.
By year two, light broke through. A freelance code job landed me a steady remote role—less cash, more peace. We settled into a snug home, I got healthy, and we found our groove—thriving, not just scraping by. Then, two years after she split, I saw her in a café near our spot, working over coffee while the kids were at preschool. The place hummed with life, but she sat crying, a worn-out shell—coat dull, hair limp, eyes shadowed. I could’ve bolted—she’d dumped us at our worst—but I sat down. “Anna, what’s this?” She flinched, whispering, “David…” “You walked out,” I pressed. “Now tears? Why?” She choked out, “I messed up. Thought I’d shine solo—no jobless man, no twins. Job gone, savings spent, friends vanished.” Sobbing, she said, “I miss you. Take me back.”
I felt a flicker—her ruin smirked at me, but her abandoning us ached too. “You miss me now you’re down,” I said evenly. She reached, “I’ve crashed—odd jobs, cheap dives. I get it now.” I pulled away. “Not one word about Max and Lily.” She shrank, citing shame. “We’re good,” I told her. “You chose.” I left her weeping, grabbed my gear, and went home. That night, the twins’ dinner laughs—Lily’s drawing, Max’s worm saga—filled my soul. Anna lost that. I’d guard them, maybe let her peek in if she shaped up, but for now, our life was ours—strong, steady, hers no more.
