How I Started Disappearing While Still Living in the Same House
After the bankruptcy, I fell into a kind of depression I didn’t know how to name.
I stopped planning. Stopped trying. Stopped believing anything would work out.
I took a waiter job to keep money coming in, but it wasn’t enough.
Not for the bills. Not for the life Rebecca wanted. Not for the stability Harriet deserved.
Rebecca tried to be patient at first.
Then she stopped trying to hide her disappointment.
“When are you going to get a real job?” she’d ask.
I never had an answer that didn’t sound like an excuse.
Harriet and I were still close when she was little.
She’d climb into my lap like the world was safe there.
But the marriage started cracking.
And when couples start fighting every day, kids feel it—even when you swear they don’t.
Then I got called into the restaurant.
My manager didn’t look angry. He looked tired.
“We’re going to have to let you go, Jimmy.”
And the worst part?
I barely reacted.
That’s how far down I’d sunk.
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