My husband’s form of emotional manipulation? The silent treatment. At the slightest displeasure, he storms out, disappearing for days or even weeks. I learned to set my own emotions aside, smile, and take care of our son. Then, one day while I was helping Tyler with his homework, I saw his one wish written out: “I wish Mom would just disappear. “She’s so scary when she loses it on Dad.” It was then I finally woke up. Sunday nights are the hardest. Tyler is dragging his feet, crying over homework that’s due tomorrow, while Dan is lost in his own world, gaming with his headphones on, utterly indifferent. No one wants anything to do with me. Tyler is glaring at me, teary-eyed from my scolding; Dan is pretending not to notice, clearly annoyed by my presence. I’m left standing by the table, clearing up their plates, whispering to myself that it’s all my own fault. But my heart aches. Late at night, Dan slips away to the study, Tyler falls asleep, tear stains on his cheeks, and I find myself in the bathroom, looking at my own weary reflection. This is the third month of Dan’s silent treatment. Three long months—I can hardly remember why we’re fighting. Under the same roof, he hasn’t said a word to me. I refuse to give in; I’m convinced he’s at fault. But sleeplessness nags at me. I walk to Tyler’s room to tidy up his backpack. And there, on his desk, I see the new journal I got him. Under “Rewards,” written in that innocent, clumsy handwriting, I see: “I wish Mom would just disappear.”
I blink, thinking I’ve read it wrong. I pick up the journal and take it to the living room, reading that line again. “I wish Mom would just disappear. “She’s so scary when she yells at Dad; she chased him away.” I collapse on the couch, numb, feeling an overwhelming, dull ache settle in. The study light flips off as Dan emerges, grinning. The moment he sees me, his usual icy expression returns. He doesn’t say a word, just picks up his car keys from the coffee table. As he walks past, I catch a whiff of his cologne—Vanilla Musk. It’s the same scent I picked out for him in college when we started dating. Back then, he was a tech geek, always in black-framed glasses and a white T-shirt, hopelessly oblivious to style. I remember teasing him, “A little cologne goes a long way with girls.” He promised he’d keep it because I liked it. And he’s used it ever since. The familiar scent stirs memories of who he was, of our better times, and of the family I desperately want to keep whole for Tyler’s sake. The pain my son caused me rushes back, and without thinking, I stand up and grab Dan’s arm. “Dan, please, can we talk?” Tears silently slip down my face as I stand behind him. He jerks his arm away. I notice his phone screen: he’s on a call. Who is he talking to this late at night, wearing cologne? “Dan, are you coming down? I’ve been craving BBQ all week!” A girl’s voice comes through, laughing flirtatiously. That soft, sweet tone brings back all the reasons we’re in this fight. I turn to leave, but Dan grabs my arm again. With a smirk, he says, “Beg me, and I’ll stay with you and Tyler tonight.” Dan has always reveled in the moment I give in, that satisfaction of seeing me break, especially now that some young girl is competing for his attention. The way he stays—like he’s doing us a favor.
I laughed, but not in amusement. “Beg you? As if I made Tyler all by myself. You’re his father, too, aren’t you? “Am I the only one responsible for him? Don’t you care at all? “Do you even realize the toll this is taking on him?” Dan’s expression hardened, his mouth a thin line. Like I was some madwoman, he grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him. Tyler’s journal, with its wish for my disappearance, was still lying on the couch. Dan had left his study lights on as usual. He never bothers with issues—either saying something sharp to rile me up or storming out the door, leaving me to pick up the pieces. The slam of the door woke Tyler. Barefoot, he padded out of his room, staring at the direction his dad left. He came over, picked up his journal from the couch, frowning. “Mom, why do you always make Dad so mad?” I didn’t answer. Downstairs, the sound of Dan’s car engine roared, and the car drove off. Guess I’ll be biking Tyler to school again tomorrow. I looked at the journal clenched in his little hand, at the eyes he inherited from his father. For the first time, I realized just how trapped I’ve been all these years.
I managed to make it to my bedroom, collapsed onto the bed. Closing my eyes, I kept seeing, “Mom would just disappear.” Those four words. Honestly, I’d never screamed at him hysterically. In fact, I went out of my way to avoid conflict, humbling myself to keep Dan around for Tyler’s sake. I pleaded with Dan to come home, to spend time with his own son. Sleep was impossible. My phone lit up on the nightstand; it was a message from Linda. “I heard Dan storm out again. Did you two argue? Are you okay?” I met Linda through Craigslist, where I sold handmade crafts after Dan cut off my access to our joint account during one of his silent treatments. I had no income, so I took on small jobs to make ends meet. Eventually, we discovered we were neighbors. She even bought from me, supporting my small business and showing care. As I heard Tyler’s door close, I texted back: “Thanks, Linda. I’m fine.” The next morning, I woke up completely drained, my eyes swollen. Dan had returned. The scent of Vanilla Musk was barely there, drowned in alcohol. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, then shifted away. This wasn’t the silent treatment. This time, he muttered from the bathroom doorway, scornfully. “Don’t you think this look is a bit dramatic?” He expected me to lash out, to scream and cry so he could leave, feeling justified. But I’d grown tired. I didn’t react. He seemed surprised, watching me with something like uncertainty. He walked into Tyler’s room and spoke in that bright, affectionate tone. “Hey, buddy, Daddy’s taking you to school today.” The two of them left hand in hand, happily chatting, his kindness for Tyler a sharp contrast to his coldness with me. Neither of them thought to ask how I was doing. It felt like two knives twisting in my chest.
Taking out the trash, I ran into Linda. She noticed my eyes and took me inside, rolling a cold spoon over the bruises under my eyes. She looked at me, her own eyes brimming with tears. “Does it hurt?” Her kindness brought back memories of Dan from when we were first married. Back then, Dan and I had nothing. Living in San Francisco was expensive, and we could only afford a tiny basement apartment on the outskirts. Our bathroom and kitchen were communal, and we slept on a small twin bed. One day, after cooking in the shared kitchen, I accidentally ran into someone in the hall. In my reflex to avoid them, I burned the back of my hand with hot food. When Dan came home, I wore gloves to hide it, not wanting him to worry, but he noticed immediately. I tried to laugh it off, saying it didn’t hurt. Dan, frantic, rushed to get me first aid. He cried so hard, his tears wouldn’t stop. I teased him, saying, “What kind of man cries so much?” He replied through sobs, “Evie, I’ll make sure you never suffer again!” That night, he held me close, promising all the beautiful things we’d do together. “Evie, I won’t ever let you get hurt again.” I believed then he truly loved me. But when did he change? Now, it feels like we’re two ticking time bombs, bound together, ready to explode at the slightest friction. Except Dan is a dud—no noise, just a silent smoke that fills every corner, choking me in fear, making me scream. Returning home, I found the place empty. The kitchen was cold, Tyler’s dirty clothes scattered across the wet bathroom floor, muddy footprints tracked through the living room. I sank onto the couch and opened my laptop. I started drafting the divorce papers. I didn’t lack qualifications compared to Dan. Before becoming a stay-at-home mom, I was a college grad, passed the bar, and worked as an attorney for two years. I once earned a good salary, winning cases and thriving in my career. Then, I got pregnant. Dan convinced me to quit and focus on raising Tyler. At first, he’d said: “When your maternity leave’s over and Tyler’s a little older, we can hire a nanny. You can get back to work whenever you’re ready.” Later, he changed it to: “Tyler’s used to you now, and I’m in a career upswing. Going back would mean hiring a nanny, and her salary would eat up yours. It just doesn’t make sense for us financially. “Let’s wait until Tyler’s a bit older.” My son hugged mine and babbled for mommy. I went soft. Blame me for not insisting. Thinking about it now, Dan’s cold violence appeared a little bit from that time.
Having finished drafting the divorce agreement, I noticed it was almost evening. Dan still hadn’t come home with Tyler. Out of habit, I started worrying about Tyler’s homework, then I slapped myself hard across the face. “As a mom, I have to be tough, just like his dad.” Then I got a call from Dan. It was that same girl from the other night. “Hey, it’s me. Dan is too drunk to get home. Can you come pick him up?” “Why don’t you just take him home? Aren’t you two close?” I glanced at the divorce papers on the table and changed my mind. “Forget it. I’ll go get him.” As soon as I hung up, I rushed to the bar where he was. Inside, a mix of people filled the room. Apart from the girl I’d spoken to on the phone, everyone else was a stranger. Yet they all looked at me with judgment, as if I had failed to be a good housewife. Dan sat in the main seat, his face flushed, raising an empty glass while Tyler was right beside him. His backpack lay discarded on the floor, and a girl dressed in revealing clothing had him in her arms, chatting away. So this is how he spends time with our son? No wonder my efforts to care for Tyler all these years seemed futile compared to the few times Dan takes him out for a good time. Before I could step inside, Tyler yelled out. “Dad, I don’t want to go back with Mom! She’ll just make me do my homework!” He darted around like he’d seen a ghost, and only then did Dan feign waking up. “Don’t be scared, buddy. Dad’s here.” Then more voices chimed in, urging me to back down. “Hey, don’t be mad at him. He’s been hiding out at my place for almost two months because of you.” “Same here, Dan’s been hiding out at my place for nearly a month; my wife is getting annoyed.” The girl next to Dan chimed in, “You know, Dan talks about you and Tyler a lot when we chat. He really cares about you both.” That’s when it hit me—this call wasn’t about getting Dan home. They wanted me to break down, beg, and apologize to him so he would come back. I couldn’t help but scoff. “With all these sob stories, can’t he just come home on his own? Does he not have legs? “I’m the one working my tail off to raise our son, yet he storms out at the slightest inconvenience and is now the one suffering. “If having fun outside is suffering, how about I trade places with you, Dan? Quit pretending to be drunk. “Is this what you want? Should I say it privately or would you prefer I say it right here?” The girl clinging to him suddenly paled. “Look, it’s all a misunderstanding.” A misunderstanding? Almost caught him in the act while he was out partying, and when I pressed him, he just shut down. Dan went cold again, not saying a word. He shot a dark glance at Tyler, who shuffled over to me, looking dejected, while still glancing back at Dan, hoping he would call him back. He thought that meant more fun and no homework. This was his way of sending me packing. Telling me to take our son and leave while he continued to enjoy himself. Why does it always have to be this way? I’ve had enough. I stood my ground, pulling out the divorce papers.
“Dan, let’s get a divorce.” The noise in the bar fell silent instantly. Dan finally looked up at me. His expression was one of disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend what I just said. After seven years of marriage, no matter how tense things had become between us, I’d never once brought up divorce. He knew me well enough to know I never backtracked once I made up my mind. He jumped up from the leather sofa and took a few steps towards me. “Are you serious?” Finally, he was looking me in the eye and speaking to me like a normal person. He glanced at Tyler and smirked. “Evie, if you want a divorce, you can’t take Tyler with you. He’d much rather stay with me.” Dan was confident I’d fight him for our son. He wasn’t blind; he knew how much I had put up with for Tyler’s sake over the years. Tyler clung to Dan, glaring at me with fear, as if I was going to take him away. “Mom, I don’t want you. I want Dad.” The girl stepped closer, smiling mockingly as she advised me. “Sweetie, at your age, without a job or a place to live, you can’t take custody of him. “Just take your son home; there’s no need for overnight grudges in a marriage.” I gritted my teeth, clutching the divorce papers tightly. I knew what I was up against when I walked in here, but seeing their disdain and disapproval stung. But no, I pinched myself. Reminding myself: Women must be strong; no tears. Tears are magic in front of those who love you; they’re merely a joke in front of those who don’t. “Dan, rest assured. “I’m leaving. I don’t want the child or the house.”
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