Chapter 3: The Grind and the Smile
The first days back home were devastating. Marcus came back only once, to pack his clothes into expensive leather suitcases. He said he was going to live in an apartment near his job, that he needed “space to think,” but we both knew that was a lie. That was the end. He was abandoning me because his son wasn’t perfect enough for his colossal ego.
“You can keep the house for now,” he said callously while zipping a bag. “But don’t think I’m going to support this kid forever. When the divorce goes through, you’re going to have to scratch out a living on your own. I won’t be responsible for your failure.”
I was sitting on the sofa, nursing Dante, who was fast asleep. I didn’t even get up to watch him leave. I didn’t want his last image in my mind to be one of me begging. I just hugged my baby tighter and thought, “We are going to make it. I don’t know how, but we will make it.”
Reality hit hard in the following weeks. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have any savings worth mentioning because he controlle all the accounts, and I didn’t have family nearby to lend a hand. My parents had died in a car accident five years earlier, and I was an only child.
And Marcus’s family? They ghosted me completely as soon as they found out about Dante’s diagnosis. His mother, who had always been so sweet and grandmotherly to me when we got married, stopped answering my calls. It was as if Dante and I had simply ceased to exist to them.
