After 14 years together, Peter left me and our four kids with a single text: “You’re too tired. Too boring. Too much.” No warning—just gone. He moved on with his carefree colleague, leaving me to hold everything together.
I juggled school runs, packed lunches, comforted heartbroken children, and cried only in the shower. I had no choice but to survive.
One year later, after rebuilding our life without him, Peter reappeared—cheap bouquet in hand and full of regret.
“I made a mistake,” he said. “I want to come home.”
I let him in, made tea, and handed him a folder—child support documents, receipts, everything he’d ignored for a year.
“You thought we could just go back?” I asked. “You chose yourself. Every day for a year.”
He said I’d changed.
“No,” I replied. “I just stopped setting myself on fire to keep others warm.”
The door closed behind him for good.
The next day, I tossed the bouquet into the compost bin—where it belonged.