I’ve cherished the same man for nearly two decades; his name is Jake. With dark hair and warm brown eyes, he’s undeniably attractive. I’ve only seen him clean-shaven once, and honestly, I prefer his beard. He has a calm demeanor, especially when my anxiety spikes. While I can chatter endlessly at social events, he tends to be more reserved.
Jake is a night owl who rises at dawn, whistling cheerfully as he gets up. I, on the other hand, need at least thirty minutes of quiet before I can engage with anyone, and I require a solid eight hours of sleep to function effectively. He truly is the yin to my yang.
Fifteen years ago, we were excited to tie the knot and immediately start a family, something we both longed for. “Let’s have kids close together,” we agreed on our wedding night, and we did just that. Now, with three children in tow, we’ve come to the mutual understanding that we would be happier apart.
I love him, yet that love has transformed. It no longer has the strength to uphold our marriage, but it’s still there. We’ve shared significant moments, like witnessing the births of our children, building a home, and supporting each other through illness and loss. Our history is filled with enough love to forgive the missteps we’ve made in our relationship, and we’re leaning on that love as we part ways.
In our attempts to nurture our love as a married couple, we only found ourselves drifting further apart. We knew it was time for a change. Jake moved out two months ago, and after a few weeks of solitude, I took a much-needed getaway with my closest friend. We enjoyed massages and explored various shops and eateries, often sitting in the car for a while, reluctant to leave the conversation.
One day, while browsing through a bookstore, I received a photo from Jake. He had renovated our kitchen, removing cabinets and tiling all the way to the ceiling—exactly how I had envisioned it for years. I had reached out to contractors to schedule the work myself, but while I was away, he decided to surprise me with the project. Overwhelmed with emotion, I found a quiet corner in the bookstore and sat down, tears streaming down my face—not from sadness but from the joy of realizing that we still hold love for each other during this transition, perhaps even more than we did before.
I genuinely care for Jake, and a part of me always will. However, our marriage is over. Most days, I feel empowered and confident in our decision. Yet, there are moments that sting, like when I run into the friendly grocery store clerk who remarks, “You’re not buying as much these days. Where’s the steak?” Or when I visited a jewelry store to have my watch battery replaced, and the saleswoman said, “You left your rings at home today? You must need something new!” as she flashed a flashy cocktail ring at me.
Yet, I remind myself of what a fantastic father Jake is, and parting ways doesn’t have to end in sorrow. He will always be there for our children. Most importantly, we will always remain a family.
The sting of change fades, and I’m learning to accept that it’s okay not to buy steak anymore. I don’t tear up every time I see diamonds. I love Jake because he is a good person who listens to me after a challenging day as a single mom in her 40s. He truly cares. Our family dynamic may look different now, but that doesn’t diminish our love. The love we have isn’t enough to sustain our marriage, but it’s ample to create a happy, blended family.
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In summary, while my love for Jake remains, our marriage is no longer viable. We recognize that we can still be a family without being together romantically. Our journey has shifted, but the affection and respect we hold for one another will continue to guide us as co-parents.