The look of confusion on their faces broke my heart.
How had we messed up so badly that our kids thought they needed to replace me?
We spent the next hour sitting on those front steps, trying to explain to Sarah and Jack what divorce really meant.
The sun had set completely now, the porch light casting a soft glow over us. We reassured them over and over that both of us loved them more than anything in the world, and that nothing would ever change that.
“But if Daddy’s not sick,” Sarah said, her brow furrowed in concentration, “why can’t he live with us anymore?”
I felt my heart breaking all over again. How do you explain something like this to a kid?
“Sometimes,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “grown-ups decide they can’t live together anymore.
But that doesn’t change how much we love you.”
Jack’s lower lip trembled, and I saw tears forming in his eyes. “Did we do something bad?”
“No!” Goldie and I said in unison. I pulled him into a hug, feeling his small body shake with sobs.
“This has nothing to do with you guys. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We just want things to go back to normal,” Sarah whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I glanced at Goldie, and I could see she was fighting back tears too. “I know, sweetheart,” she said, her voice a ragged whisper.
“But sometimes change can be good. We’re going to find a new normal, okay?”
“But why?” Jack asked, his voice muffled against my shirt. “Why can’t you just love each other again?”
That question hit me like a ton of bricks.
How do you explain to a five-year-old that sometimes love just isn’t enough?
“Oh, buddy,” I said, my voice a strangled gasp. “Your Mom and I do love each other. We always will.
But sometimes… sometimes grown-ups need different things to be happy.”
“Are you happy now?” Sarah asked, her eyes searching my face.
I looked at Goldie, saw the same pain reflected in her eyes. “We’re working on it,” I said honestly. “And you know what would make us really happy?
Seeing you two happy.”
As the night wore on, their worried expressions started to soften. We talked about what things would look like going forward, how they’d spend time with both of us, and how we’d still do family activities together.
Sarah looked up at us, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “So, we don’t need to sell cookies and our toys to get a new Daddy?”
I managed a smile, ruffling her hair.
“No, you don’t. But hey, maybe we can sell cookies to help others who need it, yeah? How about raising money for a good cause together?”
Their faces lit up at that idea, and for the first time that night, I felt like maybe we hadn’t completely screwed everything up.
“Can we help kids who don’t have toys?” Jack asked, his earlier tears forgotten in the excitement of a new plan.
“That’s a great idea, buddy,” I said, giving him a gentle squeeze.
“We can look into some local charities together. Maybe find one that helps kids in need.”
As we sat there, planning our new fundraising mission, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.
Seeing what the divorce had done to my kids, how confused they were because of the sudden change, for a moment, I regretted what my wife and I had done.
Maybe we should have waited longer before calling it quits.
But looking at Goldie, seeing the same pang of love and worry in her eyes, I knew we’d made the right choice. We might not be together anymore, but we were still a family.
Different, yeah, but still full of love.
“You know what?” Goldie said, standing up and brushing off her jeans. “I think this calls for some ice cream. Who’s in?”
The kids cheered, their earlier sadness momentarily forgotten.
As we all headed inside, I caught Goldie’s eye.
She gave me a small smile and hugged me, and I returned it. We had a long road ahead of us, but maybe, just maybe, we’d find our way to that new normal.
And right now, with the promise of ice cream and the sound of our kids’ laughter filling the air, that was all that mattered.
