It began like many young love stories — with hope.
Shannon Wilfong and Michael Chekevdia were never a perfect match, but when they discovered Shannon was pregnant, they clung to the idea that a shared life could create stability. “A child needs both parents,” they told each other. “Marriage will bring us closer.” But what they failed to realize was that proximity does not create peace — and a child does not cure conflict.
By the time their son, Tyler, was two, their once-hopeful home had turned into a battlefield of slammed doors and bitter silence. Michael would retreat into his garage; Shannon would cry in the kitchen. And Tyler? He’d sit quietly under the dining table, clutching his stuffed bear, listening to the sounds of love unraveling.
Arguments over toys, bedtime routines, and money soon became battlegrounds for unresolved pain. Shannon accused Michael of emotional distance. Michael resented Shannon’s growing bitterness. Their love hadn’t just faded — it had turned toxic.
After one particularly explosive fight, when Tyler asked if he had done something wrong, the decision was made.
“We need to separate,” Shannon said quietly, her voice hollow. “Not just for us, but for him.”
Michael nodded, not out of agreement, but out of exhaustion.
The divorce was swift but cold. There were no screaming matches in court, no fights over assets. They agreed to joint custody and tried to smile during handovers, for Tyler’s sake. On paper, it looked like a “good” divorce — the kind experts recommend. Clean, cooperative, respectful.
But the emotional toll was far more complex.
Tyler became quiet. He stopped drawing pictures. He stopped singing to his toys. He watched people closely, studying them the way children do when they’re trying to predict what comes next. Shannon tried to make up for the tension with gifts and sugary breakfasts. Michael tried with weekend adventures and bedtime stories. But what Tyler needed wasn’t distraction — it was healing.
One afternoon, Tyler asked a question that pierced Shannon’s heart:
“Will I grow up and fight with someone too?”
She didn’t know how to answer.
In therapy, the truth unraveled slowly. While Shannon and Michael had hoped to protect Tyler from their war by ending the marriage, they had forgotten that damage is not only done by violence — it can also be done by tension, by emotional absence, by the refusal to speak honestly.
Years later, Tyler — now a teenager — would tell his parents something they never forgot:
“I wasn’t sad that you got divorced. I was sad that you waited so long.”