epilogue

"Who is she?"

"I'm sorry."

"Who is she?" I repeated weakly. I couldn't stand to look at him, but I needed to see for myself. I needed to know for sure that it was over.

He didn't open his mouth again, but his eyes told me. They showed the depths of his soul, and I could always read them. They were what drew me to him in the first place. And now all I could see in them was regret.

I stood in disbelief, lips parted, pieces of my hair falling down like the pieces of my marriage.

Uncertainty seemed to be all we had left.

I broke away from his pleading gaze, unwilling to subject myself to any more of this torment. I had to get out. I couldn’t look up. I blindly grabbed a bag and starting grabbing whatever clothing my hands landed on, my eyes fixed downward, afraid to take in any of the reminders that surrounded me. The air stopped short in my chest, and I chanced a glance at my reflection, as I grasped the top of the bureau.

Six years had just been ripped from my soul, and their absence showed.

His figure came into focus just over my shoulder and the stare I had broken off earlier was restored.

“I…I…” My anger had ebbed into pain, the words caught in the back of my throat. “I didn’t think it would end like this. I didn’t think that we’d end. This isn’t what you promised me.”

I turned to face him. I knew that he was unsure of what to do, of what he could possibly offer to me other than the name I demanded. The regret was now edged with sorrow.

“I have to go.”

I clutched the bag, buffering myself from him as I hurried by and out of the house.