I hung up without another word. On the day of his wedding, my husband and I drove somewhere else entirely: to Tina’s doorstep. She answered holding her crying baby, her face pale with exhaustion.
The room she rented was old, cramped, and unbearably quiet except for the baby’s wails.
I rolled up my sleeves, helped her with chores, rocked the baby to sleep, and gave her a moment to rest. I brought cookies and cake—small comforts, but sincere.
When my son called demanding to know where we were, I said simply, “I’m at your ex-wife’s house. You were a terrible husband, and I’m ashamed of you.”
He hung up, furious.
He hasn’t spoken to us since.
Sometimes I wonder if I overreacted. But then I look at Tina—tired, hurting, but still trying her best—and I think… maybe I didn’t react enough.
