I was eleven when mom sat me and my two siblings down at the kitchen table and told us why dad wasn't coming home. My sister was sitting in dads chair, looking down at her hands and pretending she hadn't already been crying. Chris was only four, he just didn't understand. I did and I kept my mouth shut, eyes focused on the wood grain on the table.
Mom told us dad ran off with another woman, someone we didn't know.
That was that.
Dad wasn't coming home. Life would move on.
Even though I know that was a lie.