It took me sometime to realize that things have slowly changed…

5’o clock, the time when both our alarm clocks ring. He gets up, drinks a glass of water and spends a few minutes on exercises before heading to bathe. His bathroom time then is my greenlight to get up from my own bed, yes from my bed, and do my morning rituals — drink a glass of water, make a cup of coffee for myself and hot chocolate for the kids, cook breakfast and check my inboxes.

Mornings at home are quiet, except for the chirping of birds and the noise of frying and toasting in the kitchen. Neither he nor I would start a conversation but that nevertheless trapped questions and reminders that concern the entire household — especially the children — from being discussed, or sometimes argued.

I actually seem to have gotten used to the setup…

At work, I’m all focused on getting every task done. Although I’m usually swamped, nonetheless I still don’t feel much obligated to haggle about things, except when the kids call and ask for some take-home counter food for dinner. Well, they usually either come home fed or do the cooking by themselves upon arriving from school. After all, they’re grown up teens and more likely to handle things by themselves.

I can say, dinner time is the best time of the day because that’s when everybody is together, and the kids would cheerfully talk about that forgetful science teacher and a classmate who always trips when she doesn’t wear her eyeglasses. But once dinner is finished, fun time is over.

I thought, after all these years, things would get better...

The night lamp and the kids’ baby pictures at my bedside table keep me company every night while he comfortably lies down on his own bed too, reading some thick-bound novel that eventually puts him to sleep.

And as the lights go out one by one, montages of memories slowly set in, taking me to a deeper emotion of hurt and longing. And as I drown myself in grief, questions — the same set of questions I’ve been asking myself for two years now — replay in my mind and in my heart. What have I done wrong? How did these all happen? When and where can I find peace? The pointing fingers and harsh words are just unbearable.

So I thought I needed to do something to redeem myself, my pride as a woman, my rights as a wife and my self-esteem…

Our family lawyers helped out with the process of the divorce but the children got in the way and pleaded for us not to separate; that neither of us should leave the house and that we could still patch things up.

And so we did not separate, nobody left the house and the divorce was not pursued, but our mornings, noons and nighttimes remained as how it’s been for more than two years now, he on his own bed and me on mine; less talkings means less fights.

It’s emotionally ailing, pushing my pride, my rights and my self-esteem hard down my throat but the precious moments I spend with my children during those happy dinner times is making every rough time fine, every longing overshadowed by content, and all hurt, enduring.

After all, I am a mother, what can I not do for my children I dearly love?