But truth be told, I wasn’t. We weren’t navigating very well through couples counseling, and he really wasn’t engaged in our family life. It just wasn’t working. I felt like it was either going to be him or eventually it would be me to pull that trigger. He showed no remorse for the affair and showed no real interest in reconciling. He was actually acting as if he was doing me a favor by being married to me. Um, yeah, no thanks. I’m okay.

Regardless of that realization, it was still a shock on a larger level. The life of a divorced single mother was never the life I would have pictured for myself, never mind for my darling children. But life dealt me a hand, and I decided to play it.

Less than two weeks after Brendan asked for the divorce, he posted his profile on Match. Brendan’s wanderlust was screaming to get out…no more downer wife to deal with…onto the fun! Whatever. Besides, his profile talked about how he was a “huge Italian food-lover” and “huge slap-stick comedy fan”, except he kept spelling “huge” as “hugh”. LOL. It was ALL over the page. That was no spell check error, folks. At least it served as a point of amusement.

We began the process of alerting family and friends, hiring lawyers and contemplating next steps to move a divorce forward. We knew we had to sell the house, separate the possessions, and figure out where to go next. Not fun. NOT FUN. Surreal, actually. Obviously, my top priority was making sure the kids were okay in the transition. Fortunately they were so young, babies really, that most of it went over their heads. And while I was slightly panicked about what the future held, I knew I deserved better than this ridiculousness.

So as we were wading waist deep in divorce paperwork, the house sale, apartment hunting and ultimately moving, Brendan pursued Jean, the next notch on his wanderlust belt.

And this one was a fucking disaster.