Business Casual

Dirty little secret

It's an odd experience when you realize your whole life is changing but no one else is aware. You feel as though you're acting in a play. Your true life is a secret you're not yet permitted to reveal. After my husband and I decided to divorce, we held off on telling anyone. We both had to assume roles. Mine was the role of wife—a role I had longed to play my entire life, but now it was just an act.

Dress rehearsal

Our final performance as a married couple took place over Thanksgiving weekend. We consistently spent the holiday with my husband’s parents, and it was one of my favorites. The day was filled with love, family time, naps, and delicious food. My mother-in-law beautifully set the table. We sipped sweet red wine from crystal glasses. The turkey was perfectly cooked, and the dessert table overflowed with cakes and pies. Nana always prepared cream puffs, while my mother-in-law made apple pie. The whole table would tease my father-in-law for being the only one who enjoyed eating rutabaga. These sweet gestures had become familiar to me—moments that turned into tradition. The perfect Thanksgiving.

The night before, we always went out with my husband's high school friends. We would find a local bar and spend the whole evening drinking, laughing, and catching up. I'll never forget that Thanksgiving Eve. The evening unfolded as usual, with everyone sharing stories and enjoying cold beers and cocktails. Then it was time. My husband bought a round of shots for all his friends, himself, and me. He handed out the shots, signaled for everyone to raise their glasses, and announced, "Amber and I are getting divorced." The table fell silent.

As if it were a scene from a film, my husband and I clinked our glasses and took a sip. His friends, somewhat reluctantly, did the same, and soon the questions began. They were curious about every detail. How did this come about? Are we alright? Are we certain? Is anyone aware? Are you concerned about PJ?

I looked at him and wondered how we got here. A toast to the end, in the middle of a bar. Surrounded by people we loved, yet somehow feeling held and alone at the same time.

We rushed to answer everyone’s questions. Yes, we are okay. No, we don't hate each other. Yes, we have a plan for PJ. No, we haven't told our families yet. Everyone is kind. We receive hugs and understanding smiles. We receive words of support and encouragement. I look around the table at these wonderful people, friends of my husband’s who have become my friends too. I hope they will stay that way.

Before the night ends, my husband assures everyone that he and I are going to remain close. He tells them that our romantic relationship may have ended, but our friendship never will. He even lets them know that this Thanksgiving Eve tradition won't end. We will still all go out together the night before Thanksgiving. Not much will change. I will be there next year and the year after that and the year after that. He was wrong.

Lights, camera, action!

After Thanksgiving Eve, we both woke up with headaches but also a small sense of relief. At least someone knew now. And the world didn’t end when we told them either. We can do this. I can do this. It will be okay.

By this stage in our separation, we were already casually seeing other people. It felt surreal to be sitting on the couch at my in-laws' house as the holiday season began, aware that my spouse was right next to me texting another woman. He wasn't doing anything wrong. In fact, I was also texting when I found a moment. Yet, if it wasn't wrong, why did it feel so incredibly wrong?

At one moment, I became so overwhelmed by the feeling that I went to the guest room where we were staying and cried. I wasn't exactly sure why I was crying. Perhaps it was for my son. Perhaps for my husband. Maybe for myself. Maybe for our friends and family, maybe for our lives. Sharing it with others made it feel real. It was no longer a secret or a joke. This was actually happening. Was I prepared? I had to be prepared. I wiped the tears from my face as my husband came into the room.

He couldn’t tell I had been crying, and I was relieved.  He sat on the ledge of the bed and stared at me. “What are you doing up here?”

“Taking a break. It’s hard to pretend everything’s okay in front of your family. We have to tell them soon.”

“We will.” He stares at me.

That’s when I notice it. He looks different. Nothing has actually changed about his physical appearance, and yet everything has changed. He isn’t looking at me like a man in love. He isn’t looking at me like I’m the mother of his child. He’s just looking at me like I’m a regular person he hasn’t lived an entire life with.

I can’t help myself so I ask, “What do you see? When you look at me now?”

No answer.

“Cause I still see my husband.” Did I just think that? Or did I say it out loud? Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore because he doesn’t see his wife.

Curtain Call

We survived Thanksgiving intact. Initially, we planned to wait until after Christmas to inform our families, but this experience showed us that we can no longer pretend. The day following Thanksgiving, I share the news with my family, and he shares it with his. This is real. This is happening.

By December first, our closest friends and family all know our secret. Now it’s time to tell the rest of the world. I write an Instagram post and ask my husband to read it.

“Is it okay?” He nods. Post.

"The last 11 years of my life, I have had S by my side as my romantic partner. We have served at various churches together, got married, added a puppy to our family, and brought the sweetest little boy into the world. For personal reasons S and I have made the mutual decision to end our marriage. He is and will always remain my best friend. We are planning to co parent PJ with the utmost grace and respect towards each other. There is no one to blame in this scenario. This is not a decision made because we don’t love each other, but rather because we do. We want to see us living our happiest lives and being our truest selves. S, I love you now and forever. Thank you for giving me the most beautiful chapter of my life so far. I’m incredibly blessed that you will be in the remaining chapters as well, no matter what that looks like. Here’s to park bench dates with potato salad, movie nights on mattresses laid on the floor, road trips listening to Taylor Swift for hours, fort building, singing worship songs together, board game nights with too much wine and bread, being Disney adults together, seeing Frodo in your glasses, and love. Here’s to us. There was happiness because of you. There is no fear in love. 🤍"

Now everyone knows.

Business Casual

In the beginning of our divorce, the dream was to stay friends. This is evident in the way we shared with our friends and families: using kind, gracious, and hopeful words that we sent out into the universe, hoping they would manifest into our reality.

In the months following that initial post, it became clear how challenging fulfilling those promises might be. At times, we were friends; at others, we were enemies. There were moments we questioned whether divorce was truly what we desired. However, for the most part, we were all business.

Our texts went from “What do you want for dinner tonight, baby?”

To

“What’s your work schedule this week?”

“Can you believe our little man is getting so big! Love our little family.”

To

“I’ll drop PJ off at 7.”

“I love you.”

To

No new messages.

From friends to lovers. From lovers to friends. From friends to co-workers. And maybe that was the cruelest twist of all. That a relationship built on love could one day settle into something so...casual.