Choice Assorted

Chapter 12: To be or not to be married

The school hall buzzed with the quiet tension that only parent meetings could summon — scuffed plastic chairs, half-empty coffee cups, and the heavy perfume of performance. Dodo sat somewhere in the middle, not quite eager, not quite hidden. Years ago, she might have chosen the back row and shrunk into the shadow of other people’s opinions. But tonight, she sat where she could be heard — if it came to that.

Principal Kruger, a man with quiet authority and a jaw made for the word “discipline,” stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphone.

“We’ve received a few complaints about bullying on the playground,” he began. “One of our Grade Seven boys has been repeatedly picking on younger learners. We’ve spoken to the child and his parents, and—”

“I think we all know where that comes from,” said a crisp voice from the second row.

Meredith. Pearl earrings. Well-fitted blazer. A voice that managed to sound both concerned and superior.

She didn’t wait to be called on. “It’s always the same pattern. Boys without fathers. These women — and I say this with sympathy — they think being single makes them strong or different. But raising a boy without a man in the house?” She shook her head. “It’s not fair on the child. No wonder they act out.”

A silence fell. Not the shocked kind — the familiar, disappointed kind. The kind that knew Meredith would say what Meredith always said.

Dodo felt the gaze shift — subtly, like a ripple on still water. She didn’t shrink.

She lifted her hand. “Principal Kruger,” she said, her voice calm and clear, “could you clarify something for us? Is the learner Meredith is referring to from a single-parent household?”

Principal Kruger looked down at his notes. “Actually, no. The boy comes from a two-parent home. His parents are married. He’s just going through a difficult patch.”

A pause. Meredith pressed her lips together.

Dodo turned slightly in her chair, addressing no one and everyone.

“I think we need to be very careful about the assumptions we make. Children misbehave for many reasons. Having both parents at home doesn’t guarantee good behaviour, just as raising a child alone doesn’t mean you’re failing. What matters is the emotional safety of the environment — not how many names are on the lease.”

The room stilled. A few heads nodded.

She added, gently, “Sometimes, choosing not to marry someone is the very thing that creates that safety.”

There was no applause — just a quiet, mutual recognition. A truth spoken without defensiveness. On the way out, a woman with a toddler on her hip leaned over and whispered, “Thank you.”

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Later that week, Dodo published a new blog post titled To Be or Not to Be Married. She wrote about myths — the kind women are taught early. That marriage is the reward, the solution, the finish line. She unpacked the false logic that says children only turn out well if both parents live under the same roof. She didn’t bash marriage. She didn’t glorify singleness. She just told the truth.

Her inbox flooded with messages. Some were defensive. Most were grateful. A few were raw confessions. I stayed too long. I left too late. I didn’t know I had a choice.

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Journal Entry — Tuesday, 9:18 p.m.

Bedroom lamp on. Kids asleep. Heart awake.

I don’t know what I expected.

Shaun met Portia at the park this weekend. They sat on that green bench near the jungle gym where she once split her lip trying to fly. It was awkward. Formal. But real. She didn’t say much after. Just: “He’s okay, I guess.” I took that as her version of a peace treaty.

She’s cautious. She has every right to be.

Henry’s turn came two days later.

Lucky met us at a restaurant. His wife stayed in the car, parked just outside the window, her sunglasses catching the reflection of everything except herself. Lucky looked older. Maybe he was always that tired, and I just didn’t see it before.

Henry didn’t hesitate. He sat down, looked his father in the eye and said, “Hi, I’m Henry.”

He didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t perform. He just wanted to be seen.

And he was.

I know this isn’t the end of the story. I know a meeting doesn’t fix twelve years of absence. But it’s a start. It’s the courage to face the space between them — and between us.

Maybe showing up is where healing begins.

— Dodo