"It means I watched my wife make a choice that humiliated me."
"Then when I told her it hurt, she called me insecure."
"Then she told my parents she might do it again."
"Then she told her friends I was controlling."
"Then she posted publicly that she had no regrets."
He closed the dishwasher.
"I'm trying to understand who I'm married to when she feels embarrassed or challenged."
"You make me sound horrible."
"I'm describing what happened."
"You left me alone at a party."
His face registered disbelief.
"You kissed Liam in front of me."
"I walked out so I didn't make a scene."
"And you're still finding a way to make my leaving the problem."
His calmness enraged me.
"You know what?"
"Maybe if you hadn't ignored me for months, I wouldn't have cared so much about people noticing me."
Simon went completely still.
"Say that again."
I should not have.
I did.
"Maybe if my husband made me feel desired, I wouldn't have been so excited that someone else did."
The silence afterward felt different.
Simon nodded once.
"All right."
"That's not what I—"
"No."
"You clarified it."
He picked up his keys.
"I'll stay at Mom and Dad's tonight."
"You're running away again."
"I am leaving an argument that isn't helping either of us."
"What about June?"
"I'll pick her up tomorrow for school."
"Stop using June as an excuse."
His face hardened for the first time.
"Do not do that."
"What?"
"Do not make our daughter the weapon because I'm not giving you the fight you want."
He left.
I stood alone in the kitchen.
On the counter was a printed copy of my Facebook post.
For several minutes I convinced myself Simon had been building a legal case.
The reality was simpler.
He later told me he printed it because he intended to show it to a marriage counselor if we went.
But at the time, seeing paper made me imagine strategy.
And once I imagined strategy, I became more defensive.
The next morning, June asked:
"Why doesn't Daddy sleep here?"
She sat at the breakfast table wearing a purple shirt and holding a spoon above cereal.
I answered too quickly.
"Daddy's being dramatic because Mommy and Daddy had a silly disagreement."
Simon had come by to take her to school.
His jaw tightened.
He waited until June went upstairs to get her backpack.
"Don't say that to her."
"What?"
"Don't tell her I'm being dramatic."
"It's true."
"No."
"It's your interpretation."
"She's six."
"She does not need to be recruited into either version."
"I'm not recruiting anyone."
"You just told our daughter I'm the reason we're apart."
"Because you left."
He stared at me.
"Do you hear yourself?"
I crossed my arms.
"Do you?"
He did not argue.
That somehow made me angrier.
Later that afternoon, Margaret called.
Unlike previous calls, she did not waste time.
"Stop putting June in the middle."
"I am not."
"Simon told me what she said this morning."
"Of course he did."
"He tells you everything."
"He's trying to protect his daughter."
"From me?"
"From adult conflict."
Her voice shook slightly.
"Evanthy, listen to me."
"My parents fought through my entire childhood."
"They made us choose sides."
"They made every dinner a referendum."
"Don't do that to June."