I don’t consider myself married anymore.
Two months, and I’ve taken my wedding ring off.
Partly because it was just too painful to leave it on.
It would be different, I think, if Tony had died in an accident. If he hadn’t meant to leave us, leave me, with this.
I don’t think he did, really. Not the Tony I knew.
But he did leave us. He left me. And he meant to, he did it on purpose.
It feels like a divorce. Like he didn’t just leave me, he left me broken and alone and afraid and he did that out of spite.
And there’s nothing to forgive, but at the same time how can I ever forgive him for that…? For that spite, that hatred?
A divorce, then. A cutting of ties. Wedding vows, broken, stomped on, disregarded. In sickness and in health. he was there for me in my sickness…. why couldn’t I be there for him, too?
He just wouldn’t let me.
Our weddings vows were so short, sweet, simple. To love and care for one another. to keep life interesting.
For as long as we both shall live.
And that’s the difference here.
Part of me feels like we didn’t die, still married.
He broke those vows, divorced me, the second he put that rope around his neck.