Lake Como withwith Lorenzo
I flew to Italy on the one year anniversary of my husband leaving me and it was the best thing I ever did.
To tell this story I must flashback to the day of the reaping. Manchester. Grey and dreary and cold. Rain pattering on the window. I’m watching the droplets wriggle down the window because falling rain is more interesting right now than the excel sheet on my computer screen. 5:20PM. I’m logging out of my work emails for the day when the front door opens. Peter is home. I missed him today. His footsteps crescendo and then they come to a stop. A moment later, the door creaks open and I spin around in my chair to find him dripping wet with rainwater in the doorway, a sullen look on his face. I ask him why he didn’t use his umbrella. He says I have to leave.
“Now?”
“Now.”
No explanation. No sorry. No nothing. Just: “pack up your things because I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
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