The beginning of the end

I was painting and preparing our new house for the arrival of my three children. My husband seemed very disinterested in the entire process. He never helped paint an inch of the house. He never helped pack a single belonging into a box. He never really did anything, except stay out too late at night and sleep in too late in the morning. I gave birth to my tiniest little that winter. I was in labor for two days. My husband left a few times to play with the dog during my labor. He played with his iphone in between his naps. One thing he did not do was hold my hand. Nor did he utter any words of encouragement or whispers of love or adoration. He was completely detached from the joyous event about to unfold. He was completely detached emotionally from me and his life. I suppose I should have saw it all coming, but I did not. I suppose I should not have been surprised when he left me with three small kids, with no hint of remorse. Yet I was. I was completely taken by surprise. Looking back now, I suppose I should have realized that the birth of my tiniest little was the beginning of the end.

About VeraValentine

I am a writer who writes and chases the one thing that always seems to evade me; true love. For more insight into my mind and thoughts, please visit me on Facebook or Tumblr. View all posts by VeraValentine

16 responses to “The beginning of the end

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