The morning after their conversation, Maria woke up early. The house was quiet except for the gentle hum of the central heating system - a sound that used to comfort her but now felt like a countdown timer to something inevitable. She made coffee in silence, trying not to wake Mark, though she suspected he was already awake and simply avoiding her.
As she sat at the kitchen table, watching steam rise from her cup, Maria thought about Mark's words from the other night. "Getting you some therapy" - not "us," not "we," but "you." Even in his moment of apparent compromise, he'd managed to push all the responsibility onto her shoulders. It was a pattern she'd somehow missed for years, but now that she saw it, she couldn't unsee it.
The next few days passed in a blur. During that time it was forced politeness and careful avoidance. Mark stayed late at work, and when he was home, his face was glued to his phone or outside messing around in the garage. Maria found herself doing the same, glued to her phone but instead of just looking, she was researching for Apartment listings, Divorce lawyers and Support groups for women going through divorce. Each search felt like years of wasted time and money.
It was on a Wednesday afternoon when Maria finally made the call. The lawyer's voice was kind but professional as she explained her situation. Maria sat in her car in the grocery store parking lot, tears rolling down her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. This wasn't her fault, she gave it her all, she reminded herself. This was her choosing herself.
When she got home that evening, Mark was already there - unusual for a weekday. He was sitting at the kitchen table, with a blue pocket folder in front of him.
"I made an appointment," he said without looking up. What kind of appointment? Maria asked. "With a therapist. For next Tuesday." Mark replied.
Maria set her grocery bags on the counter, careful and deliberate in her movements as she processed his words. A week ago, this would have been everything she wanted to hear. Now, it felt like too little, too late.
"Mark," she said softly, "I made an appointment too. Maria said.
Mark: Don’t tell me a therapist?
Maria: No, a divorce lawyer."
He looked up fast, and for the first time in months, she saw real emotion in his eyes - fear, anger, and underneath it all, understanding.
Mark: "So that's it? You did all that bitching and you're not even going to try?"
Maria walked over to the table and sat down across from him.
Maria: "Baby I mean Sir, I have been trying. For months. Years, maybe. But I realized something recently - I've been trying to save us, while you've been trying to save yourself. There's no marriage left to save when only one person is giving all the love."
Mark started to speak, but Maria held up her hand.
Maria: "The thing is, you were right about one thing. I do need therapy - it’s not because I'm the problem, it’s because I need to know why I spent so long trying to fix something that wasn't mine from the start."
She reached across the table and touched his hand - one last time, she thought.
Maria: "I hope you keep that therapy appointment, Mark.
Mark: “You changed your mind?”
Maria: No sir, for you. And maybe for whoever comes after me."
As she withdrew her hand and stood up, Maria felt something she hadn't expected - peace. The future was uncertain, scary even, but for the first time in years, she can focus on her own life.
That night, as she packed a suitcase to stay with her sister, Maria found herself singing - a helpful tune that said, "This isn't the end. This is the beginning."