I had packed Sean’s suitcase, placed his medication and toiletries inside, and written down the practical information he might need while staying elsewhere.
I even folded his favorite shirts.
The ordinary details made the situation feel surreal.
I had spent eighteen years caring about whether Sean was comfortable. I had remembered birthdays, scheduled appointments, supported his career, and helped him through difficult periods.
Now I was preparing his suitcase for an arrangement I had never wanted.
I found myself remembering our wedding.
Sean had looked nervous when he saw me walking toward him.
After the ceremony, he had whispered that he wanted to grow old with me.
At the time, I believed him.
Perhaps he had meant it.
Perhaps people could sincerely love someone and still make selfish decisions.
I didn’t know.
But I knew that the promises we made in the past could not excuse what we did in the present.
