Page 21 of The Anniversary Betrayal
Shame burned through Kingston, sharp and searing. He dropped his head into his hands. “I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem.”
Margaret shook her head, clutching the tissue tighter. “You’re still their father. No matter what happens between you and Ashley, don’t you forget that.”
“I won’t,” Kingston vowed, though the words trembled on his tongue.
The children were the hardest part. Ashley had tried to keep the tension hidden, to smile at breakfast and ask about school like nothing was wrong. Kingston did the same, making silly voices at the dinner table, reading bedtime stories with exaggerated expressions but children were perceptive, and Emma especially had begun to notice.
One evening, as Ashley tucked her daughter into bed, Emma’s small voice broke the fragile silence.
“Mommy,” she whispered, her wide brown eyes searching Ashley’s face, “are you and Daddy not happy anymore?”
The words pierced Ashley like a blade. She blinked rapidly, her throat tightening, every instinct screaming to protect her child from the truth but she couldn’t lie, not completely.
Ashley smoothed Emma’s hair back, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Mommy and Daddy love you very, very much. That will never change.”
“But are you happy?” Emma pressed, her little brow furrowed.
Ashley’s chest cracked open. She kissed her daughter’s forehead, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Sometimes grown-ups have hard times but what matters most is that you and your brother are safe and loved. Always.”
Leah’s arms wrapped around her neck, small and warm, and Ashley held her tightly, silently vowing not to let her children grow up in the shadow of a loveless marriage.
A few nights later, Ashley and Kingston sat side by side on the couch in Ashley’s living room. It was the first time they’d been in the same space without shouting or silence stretching like a chasm. The kids were upstairs, waiting for their parents to “talk.”
Kingston rubbed his palms against his jeans, nervous energy crackling off him. “How do we even start this?”
Ashley exhaled, her heart heavy. “We start by being honest but gentle. They need to know we’re still their parents, no matter what.”
When the kids padded downstairs in their pajamas, Ashley opened her arms, pulling them close. Kingston sat forward, elbows on his knees, his face pale.
“Hey, munchkins,” Ashley began softly. “Mommy and Daddy want to talk to you about something important.”
“Are you getting a new job?” their son, Ethan, asked innocently.
Ashley’s chest ached. “No, sweetheart. It’s about Mommy and Daddy. We’ve been having a hard time being happy together and we’ve tried to fix it, but…” She faltered, her throat closing.
Kingston picked up the words, his voice rough but steady. “But what we both want most is for you two to feel safe, loved, and happy and we realized we can do that better by not living together anymore.”
Emma’s lip wobbled. “So… you don’t love each other?”
Ashley gathered her close, shaking her head. “Love doesn’t just disappear. We’ll always care about each other because we’re your parents but sometimes love changes and that’s okay.”
Tears slid down Emma’s cheeks, and Ashley’s heart broke all over again. Kingston reached for Ethan’s small hand. “This doesn’t mean we won’t see each other. You’ll still have Mommy and Daddy. We’ll still have dinners, birthdays, games, bedtime stories. We’ll just do it a little differently.”
“Will we have to move?” Ethan asked, his eyes wide.
“No,” Ashley promised quickly. “You’ll stay here. Daddy will still come see you all the time.”
The children clung to them both, crying quietly, and Ashley and Kingston held them together, their arms overlapping. In that moment, united in their children’s pain, the remnants of their marriage flickered with two people who once loved each other fiercely, now broken but bound by something even stronger.
When the kids finally went back upstairs, Ashley wiped her face with trembling hands. Kingston leaned back, his eyes hollow.
“That,” he whispered, “was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Ashley nodded, her own chest hollowed out. “And it’s only the beginning.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not the silence of anger or betrayal, but the silence of two people carrying a shared grief and in that fragile quiet, Ashley realized something. This was the first step not just toward an ending, but toward building something new for their kids, for themselves. Not together, but side by side.
The sound of cardboard boxes scraping against the hardwood floor echoed through the house. Ashley stood in the doorway of the bedroom she and Kingston once shared, arms folded tightly across her chest. Kingston was crouched near the closet, pulling out the last of his suits. His shoulders were hunched, his movements heavy, as though each hanger weighed a hundred pounds. Neither spoke much. The silence carried more than words could.
