Excluded Husband: I Chose Divorce

My wife, Danielle Russell, has forgotten to log her WhatsApp account out of my computer after using it.

When I'm about to help her log out, I notice a notification from a group chat popping up on the screen.

"We're hosting a family dinner tonight to celebrate Vince's promotion."

Out of curiosity, I click on the group chat.

There are only four members there—my dad, my mom, Danielle, and my cousin, Vincent Tanner.

Danielle texts back, "Are we the only ones attending? What about Leon?"

"It's his fault for being petty all the time. He's the type who isn't above fighting with Vince over an apple!"

I'm stunned, to say the least. It turns out that my family has already viewed me as an outsider.

Just then, my wife, Danielle Russell, called. "Leon, I'm going to be late tonight. Bring in the clothes from the balcony and fold them. Oh, and Mom, Dad, and Vince are busy too. Don't wait up for us. Just grab something yourself."

Before I could answer, she hung up.

I walked out to the balcony. Staring at the lines full of everyone's laundry, I dazed off.

The signs had been there all along. I had just been lying to myself. Somewhere along the line, I had become an outsider in my own home.

I picked up the last apple in the kitchen.

When Vincent Tanner said he wanted an apple, the whole family demanded I give it to him. I sliced it in half to share, but all I got in return was Danielle's sharp reprimand. "Half an apple? That's not even a mouthful!"

She snatched Vincent's half and tossed it into the trash. Then she grabbed his arm and marched toward the door. "Come on, Vince. Let's go buy a whole box of apples."

Mom glared at me, her teeth clenched. "Do you always have to be so petty? Fighting over a single apple with Vince?"

Dad stood beside them, completely indifferent.

I used to think they were just overcompensating because Vincent was an outsider staying with us.

But I was wrong. I was the outsider.

I gathered the laundry, folded every piece, and put each person's clothes back in their respective rooms.

Their bedrooms looked cozy and warm, with soft, plush bedding. Then, I glanced at the cot on the balcony where I slept, and a wave of bitterness washed over me.

On Vincent's second morning here, he had come out with dark circles under his eyes. Danielle asked if he had slept poorly, and he casually mentioned that he wasn't used to sharing a room, so I was relegated to the balcony.

His parents had just passed away, and I felt sorry for how fragile he seemed. I also didn't want to make things difficult for my parents, so I agreed willingly.

But my kindness only invited more mistreatment.

Because I was understanding, I had to give up everything.

Because I was understanding, Mom only washed Vincent's clothes while I washed my