A Life Separated

Fife’s off for his run, then he’s back to his house to pack for the weekend. Last night, as we were curled up in bed, he kind of dropped a bomb on me.

He and his wife have finally decided to live separately, and she’s getting the house. Last week they had a long talk. He told Helen that we’re are getting serious, and if they were going to divorce then they really shouldn’t be living together. The kicker is that she agreed, because she was thinking about asking for a position back in Scotland – no more travelling to London.

Fife kept up a brave face as he told me, but I could tell that he was not terribly happy. I guess he’s pleased that he and Helen are finally ending it, but he really, really loves being there for the kids everyday, and I don’t think he expected her to suddenly stop the London commute. And if her transfer comes through, Fife won’t needed as the stay-at-home Dad. 

Fife mentioned – if Helen could get a transfer — living in the cottage and commuting back and forth until he could get a place in his village, or at least nearer to the kids. I’m not really sure what this means for Fife and I, except that I’ll probably be spending quite a lot of time at the cottage. I assume if Helen’s around during the week, Fife will have the kids on the weekends. Maybe this weekend is a bit of a trial run. God, I hope it goes well, I can’t take any more drama right now.


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