He looked at me told me I was a shell of who I used to be.
He sounded angry, and sad, and most of all the worry in his voice cut through me like something I instinctively understood. The worry of a parent.
I had taken off with the girls and gone home to my safe spot, it was November after a couple of months of broken confusion of trying to save my marriage, and I decided to hop on a plane from the East Coast to go back to the Midwest. I had to escape.
I was drowning.
I remember sitting in the airport garage shaking with the three girls in the backseat. I felt so sick that I no longer knew what the sick feeling was coming from. I sat there debating if I should actually get on the plane. My father told me, "you need to come home, you need support," and so I got on the plane and I went.
It was the rash moment that hurt my ex the most, and scared him the most. Hurting him was never my intention, but it did, and I own it.
I stood in the kitchen I grew up in, 15 pounds lighter than the previous time I had seen my parents, and sobbed.
I had no answers.
I had no where to turn.
I didn't know what to do. I just knew it all wasn't right, and I knew I needed someone to take care of not only me, but my girls.
I remember a silence that surrounded the statement, and I remember it finally turning on a light in my head.
"Molly, you are a shell of who you used to be."
That moment was my turning point.
That moment was my push to move forward.
The brutal honesty of a parent, and one I will forever be thankful for.
I was drowning, and he found a way to cut through the currents to reach me.