Telling this story
Does not alter its ending.
Back to better books.
I signed papers on Friday, which means at most I’ve got 90 days left of my very short-lived marriage.
I’ve tried thinking of a 5/7/5 answer to give when people ask where Clay is, to keep myself from strong tendencies to ramble or cry or overshare or gossip. Yes all of this hurts. Yes, I loved him and I thought he loved me. Yes, fools rush in, and I definitely played the fool.
But suffice it to say, I had a good life before all this. Things got sketchy pretty darn quickly, but I’ve got peace knowing I tried everything I could to make it work.
People have their ideas about a double divorcée, and a story won’t change that. And my friends don’t have to hear it all to know I did my best. They know me. Meanwhile, when I do catch myself venting it all out, I just feel worse. How can I be dwelling in Sadlandia when I’ve got that good life to put back together? My kids are doing better than ever; soon I will be too.