Minutes after you find the first smoking gun, you have no idea what that even means. There is a numbness. A wonder about what just happened. And the reality is I didn't even know it was the first .. at this point, it was the only.
I knew we weren't living the dream anymore. Our marriage had likely been over for awhile, but we'd had a conversation sitting at a bar in the early days of our relationship. I remember it like it was yesterday, he was wearing a tie loosened around his neck .. we were snuggled up to the bar where it was cool to be regulars, and we could crawl home when we'd finally had enough cheap beer. He was on my left, I turned toward him and told him, "if you ever don't want me, and want to sleep with someone else, just tell me and we'll end this thing." He agreed. I agreed. So much for agreement. He must have forgotten that deep dating convo somewhere before the ask for the risqué photo of a mutual friend and completely spaced the last nearly two decades of marriage by the time of the reply. He'd officially moved on to the I-do-whatever-I-want-when-I-want-it part of the program. There was no notice given.
So, in the middle of the 19th year, it fell apart. Millions of tiny pieces of my big life scattered all over, with me trying to figure out how to keep it all from completely disappearing.
Mr. Unzipped just wrecked my life.
Harper ❤
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