He believed losing me would finally make his relationship with Claire legitimate.
One evening, he called about the house.
Afterward, he asked, “Have you talked to Claire?”
“Why?”
“She’s not answering me.”
“That’s between you and Claire.”
“She thinks I never loved her.”
“Mark, you told her I was dead.”
“I know I made mistakes.”
“Stop calling them mistakes.”
I ended the conversation.
The divorce took months.
There were meetings, paperwork, disagreements about selling the house, and sleepless nights wondering how someone could spend nearly two decades beside me and become a stranger.
Eventually, we reached an agreement.
We sold the house and divided our assets.
I rented a smaller place with a sunny kitchen and little patio.
For the first time in years, I bought furniture without wondering whether Mark would complain.
Some mornings, I still reached for my phone to tell him something funny.
Other mornings, I woke up relieved that I no longer had to wonder where he’d been.
