Originally published on Wealthy Single Mommy: http://ow.ly/gtctF
The end of my marriage was like a long, slow series of gears clicking into
place, shifting my husband from the role of my best friend into a dark, unknown
shadow. One minute I was drying my hair in the bathroom of our apartment and
everything in my life was fine. The next moment my toddler walked in with a
train ticket that would serve as the first tiny thread of a lie that I
unknowingly discovered. When I pulled at the thread, it grew longer and longer,
slowly – then feverishly — unraveling my marriage. The great unravel took a
whole year. I’ll never know how deep the lies ran. Did he sleep with someone
else? Does it matter? My anger over every concession I had ever made in the
eight years of my marriage came bubbling out.
The end of my marriage was like a long, slow series of gears clicking into
place, shifting my husband from the role of my best friend into a dark, unknown
shadow. One minute I was drying my hair in the bathroom of our apartment and
everything in my life was fine. The next moment my toddler walked in with a
train ticket that would serve as the first tiny thread of a lie that I
unknowingly discovered. When I pulled at the thread, it grew longer and longer,
slowly – then feverishly — unraveling my marriage. The great unravel took a
whole year. I’ll never know how deep the lies ran. Did he sleep with someone
else? Does it matter? My anger over every concession I had ever made in the
eight years of my marriage came bubbling out.