Chapter 20 - OUR DIVORCEI filed six weeks after the bathroom.
Not because Rachel told me to.
She didn’t.
Not because police did.
Not because I hated Mark.
That was the strangest part.
I still loved parts of him.
The man who built Sophie a backyard playhouse.
The husband who brought me coffee every Saturday.
The father who knew every verse of her favorite bedtime song.
But marriage requires a version of shared reality.
Mark had created a hidden parenting system inside our house.
Tracked it.
Medicated around it.
Adjusted his behavior depending on whether I was home.
I could not return to a marriage where every closed door became a question.
Mark asked:
“What if I change?”
“I hope you do.”
“For us?”
“For Sophie. For yourself.”
“What about us?”
“I don’t know how to live with you and not become your investigator.”
He cried.
So did I.
We divorced eleven months later.
No revenge litigation.
Property divided.
House sold because neither wanted to remain there.
May you like
Sophie primarily with me initially.
Mark’s parenting time increased gradually under professional supervision.
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