And then, almost as an afterthought, he told me there was someone else.
Vanessa Sinclair.
Her family owned commercial properties throughout Texas.
Daniel had met her through a consulting contract.
She understood his ambitions, he said.
She believed in his future.
When I asked about our children, he sighed.
“Don't make this harder than it needs to be.”
Eli and Owen were sitting on the living room carpet building a tower from wooden blocks.
I could hear them laughing.
“Daniel, they're three.”
“I know how old they are.”
“They need their father.”
“They need stability. I can't give them that while we're fighting all the time.”
We hadn't been fighting.
That was the cruelest part.
We had been tired, financially stretched, and learning how to raise twins.
But I had believed we were happy enough to keep trying.
He didn't.
By the time the boys fell asleep, Daniel was gone.
