About eight years ago, while I was tucking my son into bed, he casually mentioned that his friend was moving because his parents had decided to separate. My daughter, snug in her fleece pajamas and clutching her favorite book, was listening intently. Bedtime stories were a cherished tradition in their brother’s room, and she loved the special connection it created between them.
“That’s unfortunate, sweetheart,” I replied. “But he’s just moving to the next town, and we’ll make sure to see him regularly, okay?” As he nodded along, my daughter piped up, asking if something like that could happen to us — if her father and I would ever get a divorce.
At that moment, I was transported back to my own childhood, recalling a similar conversation with my mother when I was nine. “Never,” she had assured me. “We’ll be married forever.” Just three years later, however, my parents divorced, and we moved to a new town with my mom.
I hesitated before answering my daughter, as I didn’t want to make a promise I couldn’t keep. But with every fiber of my being, I felt the words I was about to say were true: “Never,” I said. “We will be married forever.” I lifted her into my arms, and by the time we reached her room, she was fast asleep.
That conversation has lingered in my mind since my separation. I often hoped she might forget that I had broken my promise to her and her brother. But just the other day, while we were driving to the mall, she brought it up again.
Eight years later, it seemed she still needed to talk about it — and so did I. I could sense the nervousness in her voice, mirroring my own unease. I turned off the radio, knowing I needed to approach this topic thoughtfully.
That night in her brother’s room, I had expressed what I truly believed: that I would be married to their father forever. I told them how deeply I loved him — on our wedding day, during the births of each of them, and especially on the day she questioned our marital status.
Without delving into too many details, I explained that people evolve, sometimes growing apart. It’s unfortunate, but love can fade, leading individuals to take different paths in order to preserve their identities — and that’s perfectly okay. It doesn’t mean I am a failure, nor does it imply their father is a failure. We simply understood what was best for our family.
I reassured my children that we had tried our hardest. No one wakes up one day and decides to end a marriage; it’s a lengthy process filled with considerations for everyone involved. You work tirelessly, struggle with the decision, and wrestle with your feelings before reaching the conclusion to let go. You invest everything you have.
“I don’t care if you ever get married,” I told them. “What matters is that you cultivate meaningful relationships with people you love deeply. If you ever feel like you’re losing a piece of yourself in a relationship, give yourself the permission and space to address it.”
Then, I asked them for a favor. “Please don’t let the fact that your father and I are no longer married deter you from discovering true love. We shared a beautiful relationship, and we worked hard for it. We loved each other enough to know when to part ways. Just because our marriage ended doesn’t mean we failed.”
They were quiet for a moment, and I asked if they understood my message. They nodded, affirming they did. I felt confident they would remember this discussion, just as they had recalled our earlier conversation on that fateful night.
As I turned the radio back on, I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my daughter leaning against her window, smiling.
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