“The family is breaking. Again,” said wife.
“That’s not my problem,” said husband.
“You’ve lost our daughter, your family back home, and now you risk losing our son. What is the common denominator in this?”
He said nothing.
He would not allow her to share what their son felt, that he wanted to make amends and move on.
“You’re not going to be the facilitator.”
“But he doesn’t want to lose his family. He doesn’t want to lose you!” she said, anyway.
“Again, you always side with the kids.” He shut down now. He was isolated within a fortress of self-imposed loneliness. She didn’t understand him and never would.
She sighed and sat beside him on the bed. “I love you. I hear that you want him to be responsible for his own actions. But I can see both sides. You’re not completely right. He’s not completely wrong.”
He said nothing. He seethed, a recoiled snake of emotion. “I really don’t care if I ever see or hear from him again.”
“HE HUNG UP ON YOU!!” She erupted, and truth like lava flowed and burned patience, destroying it.
“Yeah? Your point?”
“That’s not worth throwing a part of your family away.”
“That’s his decision.”
“I can’t believe it.”
He said nothing. She retreated inwardly into pain. Living with him, standing by him, was a bitter poison to swallow. But she had been sipping it for years, developing immunity, at least enough so she didn’t leave him.
There was little left of the family now.