“I assure you, ma’am, unless there are damages, we won’t need to charge your card. You’ve put the cash deposit down for incidentals, so you’re covered. It’s just policy.” She looked up finally, making eye contact with each of the kids, and then me. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No.” I tapped the room key on the counter and stepped back. “Thank you.”
“Your elevator is this way.” She pointed down the hall to her right, turning back to the book she’d placed facedown and open on the counter when we walked in.
I led the kids toward the elevator, checking over my shoulder every few moments to be sure they were with me and we weren’t being followed. I knew my husband, and I knew what he was capable of under normal circumstances, but when fearing him, he’d suddenly turned into a supervillain in my mind.
I worried he’d bugged every room or building I entered. I worried he could disguise himself as everyone I passed. I worried he’d hacked my phone to track my location. It was maddening, not knowing where he was or what his next move would be. I considered calling him again, but if the last call was any indication, I assumed he wouldn’t answer.
The room we checked into was small and smelled vaguely of stale cigarette smoke despite it being a nonsmoking room. “Don’t put your bags on the floor,” I warned, when Riley dropped his next to the bed. “Germs.” They followed my lead, placing their bags next to mine on the desk on the far side of the room.
I spun around, my eyes traveling the room—the bright-white comforter and padded headboard, the mysteriously stained carpet, the raised water rings on the television stand. It wasn’t the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed at—far from it, in fact—but it was somewhere we could stay for quite a while with the cash I’d withdrawn, and that was what I needed.
“Alright, I need a shower. What do you guys want to do tonight? Should we order pizza?”
“I want to go home, Mom. That’s what I want to do tonight.” I turned to face my son, surprised by the harshness of his tone. Dylan stared at me, his jaw tight. He looked so much like his father at that moment it brought tears to my eyes. He gestured toward Riley at his side. “We all do.”
I released a puff of air, sinking down onto the bed behind me. “I know, guys. I know.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut to stave off the migraine I could feel forming. “Look, I’ve been trying to avoid this, but…” I patted the bed next to me finally. There was no use trying to lie anymore. They needed to know something. I couldn’t keep hiding it all from them. This wasn’t the arrangement anymore. They deserved to know as much as I could tell them. “It’s time I told you all what’s going on.”
Maisy sat down beside me. Her features were so childlike, maybe more than I’d noticed in so long. She was still a child. A baby. How could I ever tell her the truth about the horrors her parents had caused?
Dylan and Riley took a seat opposite us, their stances and expressions so similar it was getting hard to tell them apart.
“We can handle it.” Dylan’s voice was low. He thought he was prepared for anything.
“Your father and I are taking some time apart.” I’d never uttered anything as painful as that sentence. I watched the weight of it wash over my children, as real as if I’d told them someone had died. I guess, in a way, someone had. The family we’d once been would never be whole again. “I’m sorry to tell you this way. I wanted to handle it so much better than this. But I can’t keep hiding it from you anymore.” I rubbed Maisy’s back as she stared at me, her expression vacant and haunted.
“So…you’re getting a divorce?” Riley asked, looking to his brother for assurance.
“Well, we haven’t made any decisions,” I offered. Then, not wanting to give them false hope, I added, “But, yes. Most likely, we’re going to be getting a divorce.”
“Why?” Maisy’s question was barely audible, a breath more than a word.
“Well, it’s…complicated. But I guess the simplest answer is that we both want different things right now.” Looking for guidance, I tried to replay every divorce conversation I’d ever seen on TV, any of which would be better than the divorce conversation I’d had with my mother as I watched my dad disappear down the driveway without a goodbye. He’s decided he doesn’t love us anymore, she’d said, simple as that. It was the only discussion we’d ever had about the subject, and it wasn’t until years later I found out it was my mother’s affair that had caused their marriage to unravel.