When our café failed, my husband John walked out, leaving me to care for our six-year-old, Colin. Months turned into years of silence—no calls, no support, just the heavy weight of bills and broken dreams. I sold what I could, worked long shifts, and slowly rebuilt a life for us, finding stability while Colin grew into a happy, resilient boy.
Three years later, at a car dealership, I saw him—John—crying, humbled and broken after losing everything. He begged to see Colin, full of regret, but I realized the bridge he thought existed no longer did. Colin had grown without him, and our small family had healed.
As I drove home with my son, the peace I’d fought for hit me: I didn’t need revenge or apologies. Life had moved forward without him, and we were thriving. The best closure was knowing we were whole, and he was no longer a part of our story.