My Husband Asked For A Divorce On His Retirement Day—So I Revealed My 30-Year Secret Chapter 03
Early the next morning, Griffin was already packing.
I was in the kitchen, making oatmeal.
Michael called. “Mom, I know this is hard. But it’s not easy for Dad to find someone who really gets him at his age.”
I turned down the heat. “And you think I never understood him?”
Michael sighed.
“That’s not what I mean. You and Dad were just never on the same page. Dad managed people at work; he knew how to handle bosses and clients.”
“You’ve been home all these years. Of course you see things differently. Amanda knows about photography and wine, and she can plan these amazing trips. She makes him happy.”
I asked him, “Michael, last night you said your father supported me all these years. Did you mean that?”
There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, a trace of impatience crept into his voice.
“Mom, don’t get hung up on one sentence. Dad’s salary was the main source of income for this family. That’s just a fact. I know cooking and raising me was hard work, but it’s not the same thing.”
I almost laughed. So, a woman’s years spent in kitchens and hospitals, in school pickup lines and grocery stores, didn’t count as a real contribution.
And certainly not as supporting a family.
Michael added, “And about the house, don’t be stubborn. Lauren and I were talking last night. If you get your share of the money, we can help you find a nice retirement community.”
“You’ve already planned that out for me?” I said.
“Mom, we’re just trying to do what’s best for you.”
I hung up.
Griffin came downstairs in a new jacket, smelling of far too much cologne for a man of sixty-two.
He glanced at the oatmeal in the pot and frowned.
“Don’t make this for me anymore. I’m not an invalid.”
“No one will be,” I said.
He paused, then let out a cold laugh.
“At this point, all you can do is talk tough. Donatella, once you’re divorced, do you even know how to pay property taxes? Do you know how to file a health insurance claim? Do you have any idea what a retirement community costs per month?”
I took a spoonful of oatmeal. It was the perfect temperature.
“Yes.”
He looked at me as if he didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, don’t come crying to Michael. He has his own life. He can’t spend all his time running around after you.”
I looked at him. Even now, the man thought I’d agreed to the divorce in a fit of pique.
He believed that after the thirty-day cooling-off period, I would be on my knees, begging him to take me back.
I set down my bowl. “Griffin,” I said calmly, “you should use these next thirty days to think things through, too.”
He laughed out loud. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
In the second week of the waiting period, Amanda came to the house.
When the doorbell rang, Griffin practically flew to open it.
Amanda stood on the porch in an off-white dress.
She was forty-six and clearly took very good care of herself. She held a basket of organic fruit in one hand and Leo’s hand in the other.
Leo was hugging a new Lego set. The moment he saw me, he shouted, “Grandma! Amanda bought me the police station set!”
Amanda immediately bent down, patting Leo gently on the head. “Leo is such a good boy.”
Then she looked up at me. “Donatella, I hope you don’t mind us stopping by.”
“What do you want?” I asked.