Dear Terrance,

A hundred days have passed and the agony that once coated my heart has been reduced to a dull throb. Knowing that breaking up was for the best has helped but in truth it’s been the long days filled with working that have kept me from breaking completely. And that’s good because while I am exhausted, I would rather be tired than wallowing in sorrow contemplating the myriad of ways I could contort myself into the shell you created for me. Instead, I pretend that you- we did not happen. Not that our two years together were fictional but that the demise of our relationship was mutual and pain free. That you did not leave me two days after our dead baby was ripped from my womb to the cacophony of beeps, screams, and sobs…

My mother called this morning for the first time in six months. I did not mention our breakup. I did not mention you at all and neither did she. She won’t because she’ll want me to bring it up. To cry as I spill the truth of how I drove you away with my neediness and cold attitude. I won’t say a word. There’s no way I’d tell her what really happened. There is no way I would slice myself open, vulnerable and awaiting her toxic mothering to infect me when my soul is too weary to protect itself.

And that’s good because while I am exhausted, I would rather be tired than wallowing in sorrow contemplating the myriad of ways I could contort myself into the shell you created for me. Instead, I pretend that you- we did not happen.

Instead, I say only that I’ve been working long hours and we’ve not set a wedding date. Both true and both general enough to prevent any further questions. Inside, my stomach feels empty, the way it often did when you went out of town for a business trip and I needed to reacclimatize to living alone. It’s the emptiness of loss and aloneness that comes from having the things your used to snatched away without warning.

Or with warning. Let’s face it, there were signs, right? Like how you stopped meeting me in the middle of the bed. Or how you stopped leaving the last slice of pound cake for me on Sunday night. I’m sure there were others too. Subtle ones that don’t stand out in my mind because I chalked them up to the minucia of every day life.I know they were there. You were not a good actor and I wasn’t oblivious, yet for the life of me I was surprised when you left.

Were you looking for an out? Did we lose our forever before we lost our child? Was the loss of you as her father too much for her to face and so she chose to not be born.

There is so much blame to go around but I imagine that you wore yours like an anvil tide to your ankle as you walked away. That. You did not leave but instead the heaviness of it dragged you away from me and into the bottom of the ocean.
or maybe you just needed space and you will return.

Confused,
Kara