“20)Huh？ I don’t want distance，” he said. “I want to move out.”
My mind raced. Was it another woman？ Drugs？ 21)Unconscionable secrets？ But I stopped myself. I would not suffer. I remained 22)stoic. I could see pain in his eyes…
Well， he didn’t move out. Instead， he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual six o’clock. He would stay out late and not call. He 23)blew off our entire 24)Fourth of July—the parade， the barbecue， the fireworks—to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home， he was 25)distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.” But I didn’t 26)play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids： “Daddy’s having a hard time as adults often do. But we’re a family， no matter what.”
My trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior？ Kick him out！ Get a lawyer！” I walked my line with them， too. This man was hurting， yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact， I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it. Privately， I decided to give him time. Six months.
I had good days， and I had bad days. On the good days， I 27)took the high road. I ignored his 28)lashing out， his merciless 29)jabs. On bad days， I would 30)fester in the August sun while the kids ran through 31)sprinklers， raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say， “Don’t take it personally，” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you， sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.
Instead of 32)issuing 33)ultimatums， yelling， crying， or begging， I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it， or not—it was up to him. If he chose not to come along， we would miss him， but we would be just fine， thank you very much. I barbecued. Made 34)lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.
And one day， there he was， home from work early， mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little， he started talking about the future. It was Thanksgiving dinner that 35)sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said， “I’m thankful for my family.” He was back.
And I saw what had been missing： pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not so young and golden anymore. When life’s 36)knocked us around. And our childhood37)myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker punch of them all： it’s not a spouse or land or a job or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements， those relationships， can enhance our happiness， yes， but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal. My husband had become lost in the myth. But in the end， he found his way out.