Through all the bitter disputes over the mortgage, retirement accounts, and personal property, I consciously kept one thing separate from the legal battle. I refused to poison Toby’s view of his father.
“Do I have to be mad at Dad?” Toby asked me one evening while we packed up his bedroom toys.
“No, sweetie, you don’t have to be mad at him,” I told him gently, kneeling down to look into his eyes. “What happened between your father and me is between the two of us. He still loves you very much.”
“He hurt you, though,” Toby whispered, looking down at his shoes.
“He did,” I acknowledged honestly. “But he is still your father, and it is completely okay for you to love him.”
Eventually, both sides signed the final settlement. I received primary physical custody of Toby, while Brandon was given a structured visitation schedule on his days off from flying. Because neither of us could afford to buy out the other’s share, our family home was placed on the real estate market.
