After a long silence, she asked,
“You already decided before you said that… didn’t you?”
There was no reason to lie.
I nodded.
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t even ask me to change my mind.
That night, she silently packed her things.
Somehow, that silence hurt more than anything she could have said.
A few weeks later, our divorce was official.
I moved into a small apartment and built my days around routine.
I worked all day.
At night, I watched television.
And between those hours, I tried not to think about how empty everything had become.
I kept reminding myself that ending our marriage had been necessary.
That we had only been hurting one another.
That leaving was the kindest thing I could do.
Eventually, I almost convinced myself.
Then, two months after the divorce, I went to St. Vincent Medical Center to visit my best friend after his surgery.
