Two years ago, my wife Anna walked out on me and our four-year-old twins, Max and Lily, at the lowest point in my life. I had just lost my job as a software engineer, and our finances crumbled. Anna, always polished and career-focused, didn’t even look back—just packed a suitcase and left with a cold “I can’t do this anymore.” Left alone, I worked ride-share jobs and delivered groceries while raising our kids with help from my retired parents.

It was exhausting and heartbreaking, but Max and Lily were my anchor. A year later, things turned around: I landed a remote cybersecurity job, moved us to a better place, and we began to thrive. Then one day, while working in a café, I looked up and saw her Anna, alone, crying. Gone was the confident woman I knew; she looked worn and lost. When she saw me, her face crumbled into shame.

She admitted she’d made a mistake. That she thought she could do better, but instead lost her job, her savings, and her support system. She asked to come back. I reminded her she hadn’t even asked about the kids. She flinched, saying she’d been too ashamed. I told her we’d built a life without her—and we were happy.

Later that night, while listening to Max’s worm story and admiring Lily’s drawing, I realized she had given this up—and now had nothing. Maybe, one day, I’ll let her see the kids if she truly changes. But for now, our chapter is closed. I’m focused on giving my children the love and security they deserve.