A Letter to My Husband

4:17 PM at Wilson Avenue School, Room 213

My writing is an anthology 

A timeless piece of art that will carry for the rest of my life 

So, let me write how I feel as I count the remaining days of being your wife 

I was miserable 

I sat alone and even around a crowd of people, I found myself looking into the abyss. 

Wondering if my life could ever change, if anyone could ever save me from this. 

I sat in a bar in Jersey City with my two closest friends and they reassured me that someone could find me and my two kids. That day will come and that I will not be alone. 

Alone. 

That’s how I felt for so long. 

Yearning for someone to hold me, look into my eyes and peel all the layers that have gathered from the last years. 

Last year you were across the hall and this past year you switched to a different wing. 

You peaked into my class as I tried to assemble everything and wished me well. 

You sat and talked with me for an hour as we talked about the brain and how it functions. 

We had hallway conversations that slowly developed into full blown private moments in my car. 

We integrated my children into your life. 

We went on trips and married. 

You slept over two nights and the anxiety crept up. 

We wanted and wanted. 

We chased, but we didn’t see the stop sign. 

We crashed. 

The pieces are scattered. 

Now, where do we go from here?