We walked out of the supermarket, into the parking lot, where she began to explain her disappearance. She told me that she had been feeling overwhelmed and trapped, that she didn’t know how to be a mother or a wife. She said that she had run away to Europe, where she had started a new life, free from the responsibilities and expectations that had suffocated her.

As I listened to her story, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. I was angry and hurt, but also relieved and curious. I wanted to know more about her life, about what had driven her to leave us behind.

But as she spoke, I realized that I wasn’t interested in rekindling our relationship. I wasn’t interested in revisiting the past or rehashing old wounds. I was interested in closure, in finding out what had happened to her and why she had left us.

As we stood there in the parking lot, I knew that I had a choice to make. I could forgive her and try to rebuild our relationship, or I could walk away and leave the past behind. I chose the latter.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know what else to do.” I looked at her, and for a moment, I felt a pang of sadness. But then, I turned and walked away, leaving her and the past behind.

As I walked away, I knew that I had made the right decision. I had given myself closure, and I had protected my son from the pain and confusion that would have come with her return. I had moved on, and I was at peace.