It was just past five in the morning, and I was on my couch. I even had my shoes on, something that never happened.
I remember coming home, collapsing on the couch with a tear-soaked face.
Yet, I didn’t imagine I would pass out here.
As it turned out, the drive home from Douglas’s place had taken its toll on me.
It started fine. I was feeling in control, having initiated the breakup. He didn’t have much of a reply to me as I forced his hand to make a decision.
Or, more to the point, when I made the decision for him.
But as I turned out of his street and onto the highway home, I felt the first tear run down my face. Before I knew it an avalanche of emotions followed.
I couldn’t believe it had happened. The breakup had been building for weeks you would have thought I would’ve felt prepared.
You would assume I would have done all my crying by now. Nope.
It was the opposite. I was so fixated on the event itself, surviving it, that I didn’t account for what happened next. The reality that the relationship I cared so much about, treasured, loved even, was now over.
And, no matter what I thought or felt, I couldn’t change that.
I was now a single woman, at thirty-five, feeling daunted by the future. I would have to get used to this new normal.
I peeled myself off the couch, showered, removed my smudged makeup, and climbed into bed.
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