In January, I wrote about the worst day of my life and said the details of that loss weren’t yet what I wanted to chronicle. This is a small step in that direction.
Today would have been our thirtieth anniversary. It should be a day of celebration—three decades of partnership, of family, of the life we built together.
Instead it is a day of deep mourning, over the loss of that marriage and the subsequent fracture in our family.
I still cannot believe this is our story. Fifteen months since he first left. Almost ten since I last saw him. Nine since I gave in to his demands for divorce. Six since the paperwork was final.