The beginning of the end came the day he told me not to measure him by my standards, that he did not give a shit about money. I replied that it was easy to say that when he had my salary to fall back on. Something finally snapped that day.
The week after he moved out our 7 month old daughter fell sick. We were in the ER with her when he told me that he wasn't coming back. Ever. That night I drove home from the hospital screaming at the top of my lungs, the agony of the break up mixing with the sadness and fears of a mother who just had her daughter admitted to the hospital.
The real ending, at least for me, came after we briefly flirted with the idea of getting back together. We took a day trip with the baby. We met for dinner one night. Another day we met at La Playita at dusk for a drink, but the nice bar by the beach did nothing to erase the feeling that something was off.
The next day he came to have lunch with me at work, and I could not help but notice that he did not seem too excited to be there. That was sobering. I finally asked him if he was sure he really wanted a reconciliation, because it felt to me like he was not. He admitted he wasn't sure he wanted to get back together. "Then", I said, "you must let me be." I felt sad that day, but a weight had been lifted. No more fantasizing, no more denying what was plain for all to see. It was over.