When my dad made us sit down and announced that he was leaving my mom, I thought I had heard him wrong. My parents had been married for 26 years. Their relationship wasn’t flawless, but I never thought it was bad enough for a divorce. At least, that’s what I believed.
He said, “I’ve met someone,” while rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm them. “I didn’t expect this to happen, but… I can’t overlook it. This person is my soulmate.”
I quickly glanced at my mom, waiting for her to lose her temper. However, she just sat there in silence. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap, and her eyes were fixed on the table.
“Who is it?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He hesitated for a moment. “I—I don’t think that’s important.”
“Of course it is!” I retorted angrily. “You’re tearing our whole family apart for someone, and we don’t even get to know who?”
But he remained silent.
In the following weeks, he moved out, got an apartment on the other side of town, and refused to say anything about the mysterious person. There were no pictures, no introductions—nothing. My mom never asked me about it, or if she did ask him, she never told me what was said.
At first, I assumed he was having an affair. Maybe he met a woman at work or someone from his past. But as time went by, the whole situation felt stranger and stranger. He didn’t remarry, and he never brought anyone to family gatherings. It was as if he had disappeared into his own little world.
Then, one night, I saw him at a coffee shop. I almost didn’t recognize him—he looked different, more carefree and happier. And he wasn’t alone.
He was sitting with someone, and they were having a quiet, intimate conversation. But the way they interacted wasn’t like how a man would be with his mistress. It was something else, something I had never even thought about.
In that instant, I finally understood why he had never told us who he left for.
The person sitting across from my father wasn’t a woman, nor was it a romantic partner. It was his childhood best friend, Robert.
Robert had always been around when I was a child. I remembered him coming to our barbecues, watching football with my dad, and telling jokes that would make my mom roll her eyes but never really get mad. He was on the fringes of our family, always present but not the center of attention.
Until now.
My dad looked up and saw me. His face went blank for a moment, and then he relaxed and smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the forced, apologetic one I had become accustomed to over the past year.
“Hey, kid,” he said, as casually as if we had run into each other at the grocery store.
I didn’t sit down, but I also didn’t leave. I just stood there, staring at them—my dad and Robert, Robert and my dad.
I wasn’t angry, and I wasn’t even sad. I was just… confused. And for the first time since he left, I desperately wanted an honest answer.
“So… you left Mom for Robert?” I asked.
Robert shifted uneasily in his seat, but my dad just let out a sigh. “No. I left because I wasn’t happy. I spent years pretending to be someone I thought I should be. And when I finally faced the truth, I knew I couldn’t stay.”
I furrowed my brow. “But you and Robert…?”
“We’re not together,” my dad said softly. “He’s my best friend. He always has been. He was the first person I told when I realized I needed to leave. He’s been helping me discover who I really am.”
“Then who is your soulmate?” I asked, my frustration starting to show again.
My dad smiled sadly. “It’s me.”
I didn’t fully understand at first. But that night, as I lay in bed, replaying our conversation in my head, it finally dawned on me.
He hadn’t left my mom for another person. He left to find himself.
For so long, I had imagined some big, dramatic betrayal, like a secret lover who had come along and stolen my father away. But the reality was much simpler and, in a way, more tragic. He had spent most of his life living for others. First for his parents, then for my mom, and then for me and my siblings. Somewhere along the line, he had completely lost himself.
When he finally looked in the mirror and saw a stranger looking back, he knew he couldn’t keep up the pretense. So he left.
Not for Robert. Not for anyone else.
For himself.
It took me a long time to come to terms with this. It was easier to be angry and blame him for breaking up our family. But as I grew older, I began to understand. My mom moved on and built a life that made her happy. And my dad? He found peace. He traveled, took up new hobbies, and made friends who knew him as the person he had become, not the person he used to be.
Years later, one day, he told me something I’ve never forgotten.
“I know I hurt you,” he said. “And I know you might never fully forgive me for leaving. But I hope that, if you ever find yourself in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, you’ll have the courage to walk away. Even if it’s difficult. Even if others don’t understand.”
That was the last meaningful conversation we had before he passed away. And I think about it all the time.
Sometimes, loving yourself is the most difficult thing you’ll ever do. But it’s also the most crucial.