Three weeks after my ex-wife died in a car accident, my fourteen-year-old son Jake began having nightly nightmares. He tried to act fine during the day, but at night he’d wake up screaming, shaking, unable to breathe. After the fourth night, I started sleeping on the floor beside his bed so he wouldn’t wake up alone. It helped. Sometimes all he needed was to see me there.
My current wife, Sarah, stayed quiet at first. Then she snapped, saying it was “sick” and that Jake was too old to need me like that. I told her his age didn’t matter—he’d lost his mother.
That night, I woke to an eerie silence and found Sarah sitting on Jake’s bed in the dark, telling him to keep things “between them,” minimizing his grief, and saying he was forcing me to choose. Jake just stared at the wall, braced and silent.
When I confronted her, she accused him of manipulating me and said I was coddling him. That was the moment everything became clear. I told her grief has no age limit and that I would choose my son every time. She said that meant I was choosing him over our marriage.
She packed a bag and left that night.
Afterward, Jake leaned into me, and I held him like I always had. And in the quiet that followed, I realized something I didn’t expect: I don’t miss her—and I’m not sure I want her back. Because anyone who sees a grieving child as competition doesn’t belong in my son’s life.
