A few days ago, my ex said that he’d better get back home to his place so we can get this house back on the market. I had emailed the realtor that he was here so I could take care of him after his heart attack. I don’t know if the house was ever officially off the market, but it would have been difficult to get it ready to show amidst schedules and rooms all in a flux. But his words hurt me, like his words often do.

I know he was seeing a property while I was seeing a place of comfort. It really was a place of comfort for all three of us. He was being nursed back to health. Our daughter saw that her parents, though not able to be married to each other, love one another. And I was able to understand why I stayed married to him for all those years.

But now, with no marriage to work on, I added those hurtful words to the imaginary box with all the unresolved things. When I would hear him talk to old friends and family members on his cell, I put those rejections in the box, too.  As the relationships lose positive significance for my life now, there is nothing to do with all those feelings except to feel them and go on to the next thing.

And the ultimate hurt, that he wasn’t strong enough to not lose this family, will go in that box, too. Because I am not a victim; I am a woman who has grown up enough to see people the way they are.

And to love them anyway.

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