Tonight I held my 7 year old as we snuggled on the couch and she sobbed, missing her Papa.
I think I hated him in that moment. Hated him for making me tell her that he has broken her heart. For not having the balls to tell her himself. For being so stupid.
The anger has passed. I'm back to loving detachment.
But this is going to be a hard road, and I'm so afraid my children will be the casualties.
I'll die before I let them hurt anymore, though.