I folded my apron and placed it in the laundry hamper, then loaded up the roast onto the serving tray for my wife. She pointed to a manila folder on the table. I opened it. My jaw dropped.

"Honey, you filed already."

She nodded and took another swig of wine.

"I thought you were going to wait until I could find a lawyer."

"I changed my mind."

We hadn't yet agreed on a visitation schedule for our son. I found this ambush a little impolite.

"Honey, can we talk about this?"

"I'd like you to move out," she said.

I couldn't help thinking that I had nowhere to go. Late capitalism imposes some definite material constraints on the human body. It's important to recognize that my wife was not operating from a place of privilege in this exchange. She needed an emotional space, but the logic of capitalism has turned human shelter (which should be a universal right) into a commodity. We have to critique the structure and raise consciousness, instead of blaming victims (my wife and I are both victims, although as a cis-white male, I definitely approach our interactions from a position of privilege).

"Where should I go?" I mewled.

She shrugged. "I need you to leave tonight. My boyfriends are coming over, and I don't need you around."

For no reason at all, I slammed my fist on the table. There was a strange momentary glitter in her eyes, then her face relaxed into placid indifference.

I found a motel for the weekend. The owners apparently know my wife; she's a regular.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3339323&forum_id=2#31319957)

Folks like tree man will be cucks all their lives.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3339323&forum_id=2#31321765)