When our kids got sick and we had to cancel our long-awaited family vacation, my husband Garrett decided to go without us. He thought it was just “me time”—but it came at a cost he never expected.
After a grueling 12-hour shift at the hospital, I came home to chaos: toys everywhere, the TV blaring, and Garrett lounging with a beer. He hadn’t fed the kids and left everything to me—again. Our relationship had been on the decline for a while, and I hoped the upcoming trip would help. But the night before, both kids came down with a stomach bug.
When I told Garrett, he insisted he was still going. “I need this break,” he said, brushing off the fact that I worked in an ER and dealt with real emergencies daily. He packed his suitcase and left, ignoring our kids’ disappointed faces.
While he sent smug vacation selfies all week, I was juggling sick kids and exhaustion. One photo too many, and I snapped. I photographed his beloved fishing gear, boat, and other junk from his “man cave” and sold it all online. Then I took the kids on our own mini-vacation with the money.
At the resort, I felt more alive than I had in years. The kids were thrilled, and I even connected with another single mom named Tessa. When I told her my story, she was stunned—but supportive. Then Garrett called, furious about his missing stuff. I calmly told him I sold everything and explained why.
He shouted, I stood firm. “I want a divorce,” I told him. His threat to “see me in court” didn’t shake me.
Later, my son Zach asked if we were getting divorced. I told him we might be. He nodded and said, “As long as you’re happy, Mom.”
That night, with the ocean breeze in my hair and the kids sleeping soundly, I realized: the road ahead wouldn’t be easy—but I was finally taking it on my own terms.
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