My husband decided to take a time-out; he was tired of the family and the relationship. While he was resting, I found myself.

He didn’t call even once. Didn’t check if there was food for our son or me, didn’t ask if I could at least pay the utility bills for the month he still lived with us.

Nothing. Silence.

“I’m tired of you, I’m tired of the family, I want to live separately, to figure myself out,” my husband slammed these words at me like blows, “I’m bored with you, I haven’t been alone for so long, I’m taking a time-out…”

We had been married for 10 years, both 35 years old. Our little son was only 3. For 6 long years, we tried, tested, got treatments, tried, caught favorable days.

When the test showed two cherished lines, my husband wept with happiness on his knees.

When I was discharged from the maternity hospital, the bedroom was full of flowers.

And now, he’s tired.

My husband was busily packing his things, leaving only winter clothes behind. Tossing them into bags, not noticing the child clinging to his legs, occasionally taking breaks to “knock back” cognac in the kitchen.

Apparently, the alcohol gave him courage and confidence. He left.

I stayed. We lived in my inherited apartment, so at least no one could kick me out of the house.

“He’s probably found someone,” my friend Nina assured me, “He’s tired, that scoundrel, it’s hard for him with the child, poor thing. All men are like that… Don’t be a fool, don’t wait, go and file for child support. You can do that even before the divorce. What will you live on while your husband is resting and figuring out his life?”

Yes, there was nothing to live on.

At my husband’s insistence, I quit my job when the child was one and a half years old.

“We waited so long for our son,” Denis said to me then, “he doesn’t belong in kindergartens. Stay home and raise the child. I will fully support you both.” I stayed with the child. Lived for the interests of my husband and son. Selflessly created coziness, sharing all my man’s aspirations. He earned enough. He gave money for household and my needs without asking for reports.

So, a week after my husband left, I went to court to file for child support and feverishly looked for a job for myself.

I was lucky: my former colleague had just retired. I could start work as soon as tomorrow.

The only problem was there was no spot in kindergarten; I hadn’t signed up on the waiting list.

My mother offered to help as a nanny.

“You’ll bring your grandson to us,” my mother said, “Yes, it will be hard for me at almost 70 with your little whirlwind, but what can we do now! Just give me a little money to buy groceries for him.”

That was reasonable and fair. My mother’s pension was small. For the first time, I borrowed money from that same friend: we had to eat, get to and from work…

But what about my husband? Why was he silent, not calling, not coming to see his son?

I found out by accident myself.

Our “time-out” in the relationship looked like a cute brunette about 25 years old, slim and tall.

My husband was sitting with her on the open veranda of a café not far from my work.

Apparently, he didn’t even think I might someday be there again.

I just took a picture of the sweet couple on my phone camera and went on my way. After that, my life began to improve.

And you know, I suddenly realized that I am better off without him. The house became calmer and cleaner. I didn’t have to buy or cook the food he liked. And I couldn’t stand it. No one scattered things around the apartment or left a dirty bathtub.

Also, I realized I was really different. Not the same as I was in our marriage.

That, it turns out, I love hockey more than football.

That the perfume on my dressing table, which my husband liked so much, is just disgusting to me.

That I hate my dull chestnut hair color that my husband insisted on.

That short hair suits me better than long hair.

That sneakers go perfectly with a dress, and nude lipstick is absolutely not my thing.

Could it be that for all these 10 years, I dissolved into my husband, ceasing to be myself?

I began to reclaim myself piece by piece, drop by drop.

After starting to earn money, in 3 months I got a promotion and a raise. I swapped hated dresses for jeans and business pantsuits. I repainted all the walls in the apartment to completely different colors, those I personally liked.

And I filed for divorce.

Since he left — already 8 months ago — my husband hasn’t called once.

But 2 days before the court hearing, he came to me. With flowers and fruit.

“I thought it over, figured myself out, I’m not against coming back,” my husband declared, confident I’d be glad.

Then he walked around the apartment.

“Oh, what a ridiculous color the walls are. Why did you cut your hair and dye it? It doesn’t suit you.”

“I figured myself out too,” I answered my husband. “This ridiculous color is my favorite. I like the haircut too. By the way, what’s the name of our ‘time-out’? Did she give you your dismissal?”

My husband tried to say something.

I showed him the photo on my phone.

“I don’t want you to come back. I thought about it and realized: I’m better off without you.”

My husband started saying I was selfish. That I don’t think about our son who is left without a father. That no one needs me almost at 40, and with a child on top of that.

“I’ve been thinking about our son all these 8 months while his dad figured himself out and, in fact, forgot about him. I thought about what to feed the child, who would watch him during my working hours. And yes, I’m selfish. It turns out it’s so nice! And about no one needing me at 40, you’re wrong. I’m needed. I’m very much needed by myself. I hadn’t had myself for so long…”

I closed the door behind my ex-husband with relief. I regret nothing.

And I will insist on divorce. There are no time-outs in relationships if those relationships are real!