And somehow, that made everything harder.
The divorce had been finalized only eight weeks earlier.
Eight weeks.
Fifty-six days.
Not nearly enough time to untangle a decade of shared memories.
People often imagine divorce as a dramatic ending—a shouting match, slammed doors, bitter arguments over who gets what.
Ours wasn’t like that.
In many ways, that made it more painful.
There had been no affair.
No betrayal.
No explosive event that shattered our marriage overnight.
Instead, our relationship had slowly faded beneath the weight of routine, exhaustion, and years of unspoken disappointments.
We had become experts at functioning together while feeling completely alone.
For years we convinced ourselves things would improve.
After his promotion.
After my career stabilized.
After we took that vacation.
After life became less stressful.
But life never became less stressful.
There was always another reason to postpone fixing what was broken.
Eventually, there wasn’t enough left to save.
