Past the Crossroads of No Return

I ignored Willow and headed straight for the master bedroom. The moment I entered, I saw Luther lying on the very bed she and I shared.

I had barely taken a second look when Willow snapped at me, "Luther had a bit too much to drink and isn't feeling well, so I let him rest in our bedroom. Must you make a big deal out of it? You're a grown man. Act like it!

"Honestly, I don't know how you do it. Look at other husbands—none of them are as paranoid as you! And besides, if there really were anything going on between Luther and me, I wouldn't have married you at all."

Just then, Naomi ran out of her room. She stuck out her tongue at me and shoved me. "Daddy, you're the worst. I hate you! Mr. Lloyd is the daddy I want!"

I looked at Naomi, at the undisguised dislike in her eyes, and something in my chest twisted sharply.

She had been frail since birth. Willow was always busy following Luther around, so I spent countless days and nights taking Naomi to the hospital and caring for her.

Yet now, just like her mother, she chose Luther over me.

Leaning against the headboard, Luther smiled and picked Naomi up in his arms. "You're really my sweet girl, aren't you, Naomi?"

Willow immediately stepped forward with concern. "How are you feeling? Is your head still spinning?"

What a perfect picture of a family of three.

A cold laugh escaped my throat as I shook my head, forcing down the dull ache in my chest. Once I picked up my ID and passport, I turned to leave.

…

After booking my flight, I stared at my phone. The screen showed a departure three days away. I looked up at the full moon hanging in the sky, and my thoughts began to drift.

Six years ago, under a moon just like this, Willow had pulled me over from the side of the road on a whim—just to spite Luther—and confessed to me. Back then, I really believed it was a stroke of luck.

I had always had a crush on her and believed that as long as we were together, I could, one day, win her heart. Yet over the past six years, she had broken plans with me time after time because of Luther.

He forced his way into our lives with stubborn persistence. It wasn't that I had never thought about giving up, but after Willow gave birth to Naomi, I once believed she might return to our little family.

Now, I could finally see how much of that had just been wishful thinking.

I lowered my head and smiled bitterly. I sent a message to my lawyer, asking him to draft a divorce agreement. When I got home, I started packing my things.

Just then, Willow brought out a steaming bowl of soup. She smiled as she called out to me, "Come have a taste. Think of it as making up for the dinner."

I was taken aback. A familiar bitterness rose in my chest. Pretending nothing happened so the conflict would be swept under the rug—that had always been her way of dealing with our problems.

I glanced at the bowl, which appeared to be Avgolemono soup. Again, I shook my head.

The one who loved eggs in their soup had never been me. It was Luther. Besides, I was allergic to eggs. Even after six years, Willow couldn't remember that.

I let out a quiet sigh and pushed the bowl away. My voice came out hoarse. "I'm not hungry."

Willow's voice sharpened instantly. "What are you trying to pull this time, Skyler? Gosh, I'm sick of you!"

Hearing the noise, Naomi rushed over and started hitting me with her tiny fists. "Bad daddy, bad daddy! It's all your fault! You're the reason I can't have Mr. Lloyd as my daddy! He just left because of you, and now, you're bullying Mommy!"

At that moment, Willow's phone rang. Luther's weak voice came through from the other end. "Willow, my head is killing me."

Her expression tightened with panic. She grabbed her coat and hurried toward the door. Even Naomi started clamoring to go with her.

"I want to see Mr. Lloyd, too," she said. "He said he loved the drawing I made for him last time."

It had been Father's Day. That day, Naomi had come home hugging a drawing she clearly treasured.

I had already seen in the school group chat that it was a gift kids were meant to give their fathers, so I had been so happy, anticipating the moment of receiving it.