A Letter To My Ex-Husband

My Dearest M,

I’ve wanted to write this letter for a long time. I think there are moments in life that deserve to be honored with more than a passing word or a nod. Moments that deserve stillness, breath, and reverence. This is one of those moments, and this is one of those letters.

You and I have been through a lot—more than some, less than others, but still, our own mountain to climb. And today, I just want to say: I love you. I am so proud of you. And I’m grateful beyond words that we walked so much of this life together. I feel as though we have three or four lifetimes in the last 8 years.

When we met, we were just kids. Idealistic, hopeful, hungry for something that felt like safety. Like belonging. We built a home out of faith, out of old hymns and whispered prayers, out of a desperate desire to do things right. And for a while, that home felt real. It felt like it could carry us. It gave us each other, and it gave us E.

But then the cracks started to show. Not because we failed, but because we began to see the world more clearly. We started asking the hard questions. And I watched, sometimes with confusion, sometimes with grief, as your answers began to differ from mine. And then, I saw you do something incredibly brave. You told the truth.

You came out to me—not as a betrayal or a rebellion, but as a man peeling off the mask he’d worn for so long he forgot it wasn’t his face. And I know that wasn’t easy. I know you had every reason to be afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of losing the people you loved. And yet you chose to trust me. You let me see you, really see you, and that kind of vulnerability is one of the most courageous acts I have ever witnessed. You handed me the truth of who you are, gently, with shaking hands, and I hope you felt in that moment that I received it with all the love I had to give.

It took me some time, if I’m honest. Not because I didn’t love you—I did, with everything in me. But because I had to unlearn so many things, peel away my own layers, and learn how to love you in the way you truly needed to be loved. And once I saw you—really saw you—I was all in. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the quiet certainty that I would always be in your corner. I will go to bat for you every time. You are worth that, and so much more.

There are so many people who live their whole lives in hiding. Who let fear or shame keep them on the island, playing roles, reciting lines, locking up their hearts. But you? You left the island. Just like in Luca. We got off the island. You showed me what it looks like to choose authenticity, to embrace joy, to pursue wholeness—not just for yourself, but for the little boy who calls you Daddy.

And oh, what a daddy you are.

I watch you with E, and I see a man who shows up. A man who listens, who holds space, who answers a thousand questions about dinosaurs and dreams without ever letting his patience run dry. You are magic to him. And he is better, stronger, freer because of you.

There was a moment—I think you remember—when we stood at the door of that little church, after the final song, after the final sermon, after years of trying to fit our hearts into the pews. And we locked the doors behind us, got in our u-haul, and left everything behind. We didn’t say a word. We didn’t need to. It was the end, and it was the beginning. Oh how the sound of the latch clicking into place echoed, the sound of us stepping into the rest of our lives. Together. Still family. Just different.

I think about that moment a lot. How brave we were. How uncertain yet certain. Not in what came next, but in what had to end.

And look at us now.

We’re co-parenting a spectacular little human. We’re choosing kindness when bitterness would be easier. We’re cheering each other on through new chapters, new relationships, new selves. And yes, it’s complicated. But it’s also sacred. Because we chose love, even when the shape of that love had to change.

I want you to know that I see you. I see the way you walk through the world with a quiet strength, a goofy laugh, and a heart that has known heartbreak and chosen hope anyway. I see the man you are becoming—bold, free, whole. And I am so proud of you.

Sometimes people ask me if it’s strange, loving you like this. Not as a wife, but as someone who still holds your heart gently in my hands. And the answer is no. It’s not strange. It’s beautiful. Because love doesn’t have to end when the marriage does. Love can evolve. It can stretch and bend and reshape itself into something just as fierce, just as holy.

You are not just my ex-husband. You are my family. You are my friend. You are the father of my son. And you are a man I will always be honored to claim as the dearest friend I could have ever wished into existence.

Thank you for your courage. Thank you for your truth. Thank you for the way you continue to show up, even when the road is hard. Thank you for getting off the island. Thank you for locking that church door with me and never looking back.

I love you. I always will. I will never see us as a failure, but as a triumph. We conquered what most people who have walked the road we have could never dream of doing, holding radiant defiance against everything that tried to keep us small.

Forever in your corner,

V