The moment is perfect- as if it were straight out of a movie: My children walk into the hospital room. They see their beautiful new baby sister from the doorway. The baby is pink and chubby, snuggled into the crook of her mother's arm. Her father stands beside the bed, leaning over the white sheets to lay one hand on his wife's shoulder and another on his newborn daughter's cheek. My children are overwhelmed with excitement as they race up to the edge of the bed. Their smiles grow so broad their faces look like they are about to burst. My children start talking all at once- how cute she is, who will hold her first, all of the giddy comments of a new-made brother or sister.
I, of course, am not in the room. I, of course, am walking down the hall, tears filling my eyes. Down the elevator, across the parking lot, and into the car. It is there that the tears begin to fall. It is there that the weight of the moment hits me. My children are bonding with their family- and I am not in the room.
Another consequence of divorce. Another piece of my heart gone. Another ache that must be forever hidden from my children.
Divorce never stops hurting.