“Stop having conversations through text.”
We hung our heads in shame, knowing full well what sort of texts we’d been sending each other the past few months. Caps were used. Exclamation points and expletives sent through unsuspecting airwaves, as if reading them on a tiny screen made them any less powerful.
Our counselor – a small, sweet thing with sincere eyes who seemed slightly unnerved by my incessant tears and gritted teeth – had quite quickly figured out what we needed.
We didn’t need a band-aid for our broken hearts; certainly we were well beyond that, considering we were already living under separate roofs. We also didn’t need some cliche, love-will-prevail song and dance about finding our way back to each other.
Even though I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, we were there to end our marriage.
Our first step on that path was to actually talk to each other.
























