When Melissa and I speak about Mark, our words often carry two very different tones—sometimes anger, sometimes sorrow. Both are real. Both are part of the truth we live in every day.

There is anger. Anger that he continues to attack Melissa and me, questioning our character as parents and people, when in reality the door has always been open for him to step into the work that would allow him to be a father again. He knew months before leaving Washington that court-ordered steps would be required to even begin the process of reconsidering the no-contact orders. One in-person appointment, the rest virtual. And yet he refused. He chose not to do the one thing that could have set him on the path back to his children. That choice—the refusal—still stings.

And then there is sadness. Sadness for the boys, who have lost the father they deserve to have, not because of circumstances outside of his control, but because of the choices he continues to make. Choices that show where his priorities truly lie. He could travel 36 hours round-trip from California to Washington to pick up a dog. He could make time to play pickleball. But he could not make time to sit through the one appointment that could have started to heal the broken trust with his sons.

That is the part that hurts most: watching a man who could choose to invest in his children’s healing instead invest in distractions that take him further away.

And layered beneath it all is a deeper grief. Watching him repeat the same patterns Melissa lived through in her own marriage to him—delays, excuses, hiding, blaming others, spinning the narrative of victimhood. Now, those same patterns are visible in his current divorce from Tori. It’s like watching the same painful film on a loop, the same story playing out again and again with only the names changed.

So our posts will continue to reflect that range. Some days it’s anger—at the attacks, the lies, the refusal to take even the smallest step forward. Other days it’s sadness—for two boys who deserve so much more than excuses, for the loss of a father who chooses narrative over healing.

It is both, always both. Anger at what he does. Sadness for what the boys have lost.

And at the heart of it all, what steadies us is the love we have for Nathan and Liam. It’s why we keep showing up, why we keep speaking out, and why we hold space for their healing, even when Mark refuses to do the same. They are the reason we can carry both anger and sadness, and still keep moving forward—because no matter how much of the past repeats itself, our love for them does not waver.

And maybe someday, if he chooses differently, there could be another story written. A story of a father who finally put down the narrative and picked up the work. A story of healing, trust rebuilt, and a love restored. We can only hope he chooses that path—because the door has always been there, waiting for him to walk through.