When she texted me smugly, [Harvey says he doesn’t love you. You two should just divorce already,] I actually found myself envying her boldness.
From childhood, I loved Harvey. Every time he frowned, I would ache for him. After we got married, even though I knew he didn’t love me, I was content. I told myself he was just naturally aloof.
But love, or the lack of it, has a way of being cruel.
The moment I saw them passionately kiss, a thought crossed my mind: Maybe when he chose me, I was just the best of the fallback options.
I couldn’t stand it. Even after I convinced myself to go through with the divorce, I still needed to ask if he ever loved me.
That day, he came home with a lipstick stain on his shirt. I knew it was the girl’s way of taunting me, but I didn’t care – I just wanted to hear his thoughts.
But when he hesitated and evaded the question, I knew that my hope had died.
Forty years of friendship and familiarity hadn’t been enough to make him love me. So this time around, I was going to live for myself.
While he chased after his own ideal, I realized I deserved my own version of happiness too.