By year seven, I was a senior financial analyst. My life was Excel spreadsheets, quarterly reports, and a commute that started at 5:30 AM and ended at 8:00 PM. Sarah had given up her gallery job to raise our son, Leo, and daughter, Mia. She never complained about the sacrifice, but I saw the light dim in her eyes. She would try to talk to me about abstract expressionism, or a book she was reading. I would nod, grunt, and check my work emails.
It has been a year since the divorce was finalized. I still live in the same house, though it feels much larger and emptier now.
: A gradual decline in communication, shared intimacy, and mutual future planning.