And now I was learning to live with it.
There were moments I caught myself thinking things like:
“She’s home all day.
Why is dinner takeout?” Or, “Does making videos really count as work?”
But I tried to bite my tongue. At least, most of the time. One afternoon, I saw Marnie with a new coat.
It still had the tag.
“Mom bought it,” she said. “From her own money.”
I started to say something. Then I stopped.
I just said, “It’s nice. You look good in red.”
The next week, I found a brand-new office chair waiting in my corner of the bedroom. It was ergonomic.
Sleek. Exactly the one I’d bookmarked months ago.
No note. Just there.
And then, on a Thursday, I came home to the smell of garlic and onions.
Real food. Not delivery. She was at the stove, humming.
The kids were setting the table.
I didn’t say anything. I just watched.
It wasn’t the old Elowen who returned. Not the one who tiptoed around my moods or asked for permission before buying herself something.
This woman moved like she owned her space.
She laughed louder. She cooked because she wanted to. Not because she had to.
Her videos changed, too.
I listened once, with the door cracked. She was talking about growth now. Not escape.
She told her viewers, “Sometimes freedom isn’t about leaving — it’s about choosing to stay on your own terms.
I stayed, and my man gave me wings.”
She talked about forgiveness. About strength without bitterness. About loving someone without disappearing inside them.
I don’t know if she was talking about me.
Maybe she was.
And then one night, after the kids were asleep, she sat next to me on the couch and said, “When you stopped trying to fix me, I remembered why I fell in love with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. But I think about it all the time.
Maybe I didn’t win.
Maybe there was never a fight to win in the first place.
Sometimes love means letting go of the version of someone you wanted and choosing who they are now. I’m still learning, but I’m here. And so is she.
Source: amomama
