Two years ago, when things were at their worst for me, my wife left me and our kids. After a lot of hard times and finally getting my family back together, I saw her alone at a café, crying. What she said next shocked me.
I didn’t know what happened that made Anna leave our apartment with only one suitcase and a cold, exhausted, “I can’t do this anymore.” One minute she was my wife and the mother of our two four-year-old twins. She was there one minute and gone the next. She left her wedding ring on the table and two toddlers who were confused clutching onto my legs.
We were all alone when the door banged shut. Max and Lily looked at me with wide eyes. They were too little to understand what was going on, yet they could tell that something was very wrong.
At first, I waited for Lily to return. One hour. One night. One week. I thought she needed a break, a walk, or some alone time. But she never came back after months. No one called her. She didn’t leave a note. The kids didn’t even get a birthday card.
Yes, I was heartbroken, but I was also mad. After a controversy rocked the management team, I lost my job at a promising software business. In a second, everything came apart. One day I was a well-known software developer with a regular job, and the next day I was out of work and saw our money go.
Anna has always been frightened about her safety. Form. Show. As a marketing manager, she was always organized and took the initiative. When she walked, her heels made a clicking sound. She always ironed her coat. She looked wonderful even though she was in the hospital having Max and Lily. I really liked her. I loved her.
But when she left when things were at their worst for both of us, I couldn’t believe it. I became a full-time dad right away. I worked in a number of various places, like driving for ridesharing businesses and delivering groceries. I also changed diapers, got my kids ready for preschool, and wiped their tears at night when they questioned, “Where’s Mommy?”
They didn’t get it. I could hardly grasp it myself. When I answered their queries, I did my best to be nice. But on other nights, when they were finally asleep, I sat in the dark with my hands over my face and thought about whether or not I was good enough for them, for myself, or for anyone.
My parents did everything they could to help. They came over at night, made dinner for us, and played with Max and Lily. But they were old, didn’t have a lot of money, and were already worried about how much everything was going to cost. I kept the support I needed. But when it came to money, I was alone.
We got through that first awful year, even though it was hard. After then, things got better bit by little.
I got a freelance coding job with a tiny cybersecurity startup. The client was really delighted with what I did and invited me to work for them full-time. The pay was less than in my former job, but it was steady. I could start over, work from home, and spend time with my kids all at the same time. We moved into a smaller apartment, but it was ours. I made a plan. I made food. I exercised. I started to shave every day again. I even laughed.
We began to feel better.
Two years after she departed, I saw her again.
It was simply another weekday morning. While the twins were at preschool, I was at my favourite café near our new house working on a project. The soft talking around me and the smell of new coffee helped me concentrate. It had become my safe place.
I looked up from my laptop and stretched my neck. Then I spotted her.
Anna.
She was alone in the far corner, huddled over with her hands covering her face. She started to cry and her body shook a little. Hard.
It took me a few seconds to remember who she was.
The woman I used to know who always looked good was gone. It looked like the coat she was wearing was old. Her hair used to be shiny and crisp, but now it just hangs down about her face. There were black circles around her eyes. I imagined she would seem strong and calm, but she looked vulnerable instead.
I stopped.
I felt a lot of feelings at once: rage, wonder, confusion, and pity. She seemed like she was in a lot of agony. I wanted to ignore her, stay away from her, and act like she wasn’t there so I could get my work done. But I couldn’t.
She must have known I was looking at her because she looked up.
Without uttering a word, we gazed at one other and felt a connection. There was a brief moment of consciousness, and then a wash of shame. Her face looked like it was about to break down again.
I got up before I could think about it. My body moved without me telling it to. I walked over to her slowly and carefully, like I was attempting to help an animal that had been hurt. I set my laptop down on the table.
“Anna,” I whispered gently, my voice like a whisper.
She was shocked when she glanced at me. “David,” she said, her voice scratchy. “I didn’t think I’d see you.”
“Clearly,” I said. I took the chair in front of her and sat down. “You went. There was no reason given. Not a goodbye. I can see you now, crying in a coffee shop. Hey there!
She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands, which were shaking a little. She breathed in deeply.
She said in a low voice, “I lost everything.” “I felt like I could start over when I left.” I moved in with someone I worked with. He put forth a lot of effort and lived in a nice area. I thought I was done with the mess. But the way he hurt her hurt him. Having control. He didn’t want to have kids. He hated that I had them, even when they weren’t there. He kicked me out in the end. I didn’t have anywhere to go. I hurt my relationships with family and friends. People didn’t want to hear from the mom who left her kids and spouse.
She stopped, and her voice broke.
“I really messed up, David. That was the most awful thing I’ve ever done. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness yet. I had to say it. I had to apologize.
I looked at her for a long time. A reel of memories played in my head, showing me two years of agony, tiredness, and hard effort. I remembered the times I cried when my kids were asleep, the pictures they drew for Mommy that I never sent, and the times they cried.
I also thought about how far we had come, though. How strong I had gotten. Max and Lily were now so happy, loved, and accomplished.
At first, I didn’t know what to say. I stared at her and spoke the first thing that came to me.
I told them, “You need to do more than say you’re sorry.” “You left them.”
She didn’t bother to hide the tears that were streaming down her face this time.
She said gently, “I know.” “I want to do the right thing.” Please let me try.
I didn’t say I would do anything. I didn’t make her feel better. But I didn’t go either. I understood that silence couldn’t heal some wounds, especially those of tiny kids, even though I had constructed a new life for us.
I wasn’t sure if she would come back into our lives. But the talk in the café started something unexpected—maybe not forgiveness, but understanding.
And that’s when some individuals really start to heal.
