Baby Girls

Divorce

"Bradley." I walk up to my amazing husband, who is making dinner because I fell asleep when we got home from work.

"Hmm?" he hums, kissing my lips.

"I want a divorce." I say, shying away from his lips.

His body tenses visibly and slowly, he looks at me.

His eyes are filled with enough pain to make everyone in the state of California to commit suicide.

And California is the most populated state in the country.

His Adams apple bobs as he swallows.

"Why?" he looks so hurt, and I realize I approached the subject totally wrong.

The girls are playing in the living room and Bradley and I are in the kitchen.

"I just..." I sigh. "It-we don't feel real. Our marriage...everything."

He shuts the stove off and turns to me. "But..."

"I just think this is better."

"We never fight. People get divorced because they don't love each other and I, I love you!"

"And I love you, but-"

"Then why? Emma, this doesn't make any sense!"

He walks away, outside.

I just woke up and I'm only wearing light pink panties and one of his big shirts.

I follow him out into the negative degrees and shut the door.

"You want our girls to grow up with two different parents? I thought you wanted more kids! I thought you were happy!" I open my mouth to defend myself, but he just keeps talking. "I can't believe this! I've done nothing wrong!" I try explaining, but he just keeps raising his voice.

Of course, me on my period, all vulnerable, I start crying. "God, fuck you! I'm going to Mom's, and I'm taking my kids."

He shoves past me into the house. The girls are silent, having heard him yelling outside. I follow him to our room.

"Can I explain?" I ask.

"No. I don't care."

He dumps his drawers into a suitcase and starts taking things that he got for me.

He takes the rings, all the necklaces, everything.

"Give me the shirt." He points to the one I'm wearing.

I rip his shirt off and throw it at him, and then I put on a bra and a big dark blue sweatshirt that says FBI academy and a pair of jeans and my uggs.

As I tie my hair up, I shout, "I didn't mean I want us to get divorced forever! I meant I want us to get divorced so we can get remarried!" I grab the keys to my Chevrolet. "But fuck you! You wouldn't let me explain." I can tell he feels horrible, but I'm just too angry to give a fuck. "So fuck you! It was clearly a mistake marrying you! I now I really do want a divorce!"

I grab my purse and daughters and go storming to my car. I buckle them in and Bradley comes outside to stop me, but I'm already speeding down the road.

I end up driving around for an hour, and then I find myself sitting in Starbucks with the girls sucking away at chocolate milk.

I'm tired and I have dark bags under my eyes.

I text Dad.

Me: count me out on work tomorrow. Fight with Bradley. Divorce.

Dad: I'm coming over