July 2nd was supposed to be my ninth wedding anniversary. Instead, it was the day I said goodbye to my house, left Alaska, and took the next step toward a new life without him.
On my last day, I was busy running errands, focused, and determined to keep moving forward. The day before, however, was really difficult. I had to sell my car, but before I could do that, I needed his signature on the title. I was hoping that the last time I had to see him was the divorce hearing. But here I was, standing in the parking lot at his place of work, waiting for him to meet me so he could quickly sign. He did. He was cold. He didn’t ask me how I was, wish me well, say thank you, or anything courteous. He didn’t even say goodbye. Our last time seeing each other, he was just a giant fucking asshole. Maybe that’s a good thing, right? It’s a reminder of his true colors. We are what we do. He does asshole things. Therefore, he is a giant fucking asshole. It helps me continue to break away.
I see that a bit more clearly today, but on Monday, I was hysterical. I didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before I started sobbing. I drove back to the house, crying, because something went wrong with the final walk-through. I had to check on it. And yes, something was wrong. Yet another hoop to jump through. I then raced to my appointment to sign closing papers, crying on my way. There was just a lot of crying.
I think it’s still such a struggle for me to wrap my head around how much of an asshole he is. I loved him so much, and believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a good man and would never in a million years leave me, especially not for someone else. And even as the evidence has been laid bare these past six months, it still shocks me to see it. A friend said it was a shame that our last exchange wasn’t at the divorce hearing when I told him I didn’t deserve what he’d done and walked away. But the more I think about it, the more I’m glad our last exchange was him glaring at me with a cold, angry look on his face and steel in his voice. It reminds me of who he is choosing to be. Maybe that’s the memory that pushes me forward on this next stage in my recovery.
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