Two months after I signed the papers to end our marriage, I found myself standing in a sterile hospital corridor

distance myself.

I took her hand gently, careful of the bruises near her wrist, and held it with a grip that promised I was not going anywhere.

“You were never a weight, Emma.”

My voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable.

“You were my home. And I am so sorry I left you to face this by yourself.”

Her eyes filled slowly.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

Just continue reading …