Ten and Three

On this very day, thirteen years ago, I got married. My heart swelled with love and promise. I thought he was The One. Perhaps he was, for the person I was then. For the man I thought he was.

I was happy, at least I told myself I was. Don’t get me wrong, we had plenty of great times in the early days. However, looking back, I made allowances that I never would stand for today. There are absolutely no acceptable excuses for the way he treated me. However, I gave him the inches that led to the miles. I ignored some pretty powerful warning signs because I didn’t want to believe them. By the time I did, I was well down the rabbit hole.

Three years ago today was The Big Breakup. (For any of you joining in progress, things went nuclear on our 10th wedding anniversary. Classy.) It was the worst thing to ever happen to me. It was my biggest gift.

 

Today is the first time in 13 years that I don’t have strong feelings, positive or negative, about this day. That, in and of itself, makes me faintly sad. And greatly relieved. I wonder, though, if there will ever come a time when the date passes and I don’t even think about it. That would be the day.


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