17 septembre 2026

The night before our first real road trip in 30 years, I got an email: CANCELED. I called my husband. ‘What happened?’ He said, ‘I canceled it. My sister needs you to watch her kids.’

“Then why aren’t you staying?”

Silence.

Finally, he answered.

“Because I already promised Greg I’d go golfing in Scottsdale.”

I laughed.

Not because anything about it was funny.

But because after thirty-two years of marriage, something inside me finally broke cleanly instead of wearing down a little at a time.

The road trip had been my idea.

Ten days through Utah and Colorado.

No children.

Continue on the next page:
Advertisement
Share on Facebook