I’m Kota, 36. I live with my wife Kana, 32, and our 5-year-old son, Yusuke. The other day, my parents treated us to dinner at a shabu-shabu chain restaurant to celebrate Yusuke’s birthday. But Kana seemed irritated — by the cheap set menu, by something my dad said, or maybe both. She ended up blocking my parents’ number and told me, “I never want to see them again. You can go by yourself from now on.”
My parents adore Yusuke, and no matter how I try to explain things, I know they’ll be hurt. While I was torn about how to handle it, Yusuke called my parents “stingy.” That one word completely broke me.
I’ve never really been able to speak up to Kana. Every time I did, she’d explode — louder and harsher each time — and I was terrified of her anger. Maybe if I had stood my ground earlier, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad.
Then again, if I had, maybe she would’ve been the one asking for a divorce. Kana might think she’s being rational, but there’s not an ounce of kindness in her words. And when I imagine Yusuke growing up to be just like her… I feel nothing but despair.