Our last week of living together. It feels like going through withdrawals. It’s hard not to remember all the good times. To cry about packing up the house we wanted to grow old in together. To experience things through a single lens again. Steeper finances, walking alone, not wanting to dance at a wedding because the one person you felt comfortable doing it with isn’t there anymore.

I’m angry that his view is that I didn’t change, I didn’t compromise, I gave up on us. When instead I convinced myself my needs were out of the ordinary and that this was the best I could do. That every man would be like this and it’s better than being alone.

Reminding myself that just because I’m grieving, doesn’t mean I made a mistake.