He left the house with his bags packed moments ago.
This was it.
The end.

Dear God,

You beautiful big black woman, you.
Please hold me in your arms and nestle me in your boobs because I
need some serious maternal comfort right now.
If I could crawl back into your infinite womb, I would.
But only for a moment, because I need to be a mom to the most amazing little girl in the world.
It is hard to be angry at him for too long when I see her beautiful face. She is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
No one wanted to have a baby with me.
But he did.
Even though, this morning, before he walked out the door, he told me he never thought the marriage was real, which was news to me, we still have her.

He said:

“Your anxiety and your depression killed it for me.”

I replied:

“But what about being impeccable with your word? I know that is important to you. You love the Four Agreements. When I took those vows, with you, I meant them.”

And then, the kicker:

“I thought we only got married because we were pregnant. I didn’t take those vows seriously. It was only in the Beverly Hills Court House. We didn’t even have a real wedding.”

A verbal left hook to the gut.

After he had shut the front door, I noticed a pair of his blue striped socks hanging on the back of the reading chair.

Why wouldn’t he just grab those?

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