It finally hit me.

It finally hit me.

He never loved me.
Not the way I loved him. Not the way I stayed, through years of sacrifice, loyalty, and carrying more weight than any one person should. I made excuses for him. I carried his half and mine. I gave him grace he didn’t earn because I believed in us. And when “us” fell apart, I still believed we could be them two people who loved their children more than they disliked each other. Two people who could choose peace for the sake of those little hearts who never asked for any of this.

But now I see it clearly.
He has no desire to put our children first. None.

He would rather pretend than parent.
He would rather lie than lead.
He would rather protect his pride than protect the innocence of our children.
He would rather let them live two separate lives—one with love and stability, the other filled with confusion and silence than face the truth of what he’s done.

And our children?
They didn't deserve this.

They didn’t deserve to be raised in two different realities.
They didn’t deserve to grow up watching their mother be blamed, disrespected, or ignored just so he could avoid accountability.
They didn’t deserve to hear whispers that twist the truth, or to be made to feel like loving their mom is somehow choosing sides.

I’ve been silent for too long patient, respectful, trying to “do the right thing.” But today I’m done protecting someone who has never protected me, or even his children, from the damage of his own decisions.

Today I grieve the life I thought we were building.
I grieve the man I thought I knew.
And most of all, I grieve the moments our children should have had with two parents who were capable of loving them more than themselves.

But I will not let this define their story.
They still have me.
They still have truth.
And they will grow up knowing that love isn’t about lies or performance or things it’s about presence, effort, and choosing someone even when it’s hard.

Because I will always choose them.