I looked at him for a long moment.
“You treated me like
a stranger when you walked out the door.”
His mouth opened, but no words came.
Finally, he picked up his golf clubs and walked away.
Linda closed the door behind him.
For several seconds, we stood in silence.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Oh, Debbie! Did you see his face when he opened that envelope?”
I laughed too.
But beneath the laughter was something deeper.
Relief.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like the woman who had been abandoned.
I felt like the woman who had reclaimed
her life.
That afternoon, I took down the last photograph of Gary and me.
I didn’t throw it away.
I placed it in a box with the other memories of our marriage. Twenty-two years deserved to be acknowledged, even if the ending had been painful.
Then I went into my art studio, turned on some music, and began painting.
