He moved into the basement. He finally consented to the counseling I had been asking for since The Boy was a baby, six years previous (he had always insisted, “We can solve our own problems”), although he considered it an ultimatum from me, which it was. We attended three sessions together where he did most of the talking. After the third session, we had an assignment to list all of the things that we thought the other person misunderstood about us, and then we were to share our lists with each other.
I read my carefully crafted list of maybe six items. He then read his three page diatribe about everything that was wrong with me, how his family and friends really felt about me, and about how I was such a bitch. Then he accused me of throwing something at his head in an argument we had had when The Boy was a baby.
(The real story was, he had thrown something at me, while I was holding The Boy, at maybe three months old. And I had almost left that day. I did bundle The Boy up and went for a long walk in the cold and snow. I finally decided against it because babies have so much stuff and it would be very difficult to move everything.)
After he had lied about that argument, and completely twisted the assignment, showing he had no faith in the counseling, I knew it was time to stop fighting, and time to let go.
The Boy and I left town after school was out, on our annual week-long vacation to my parents’ house. The ex rarely came, and definitely did not come this time. I took my ring off for the trip, and never did put it back on. I decided while there that I would file for divorce when I returned, and I did.
Final installment soon…
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