It was July. My wife and I had not spoken for two weeks. Fourteen days without a shared word. This was a low ebb. I would have preferred harsh words to silence. The words were on my tongue. Something had to give.
Divorce is a loaded word. The act of separation can mean destruction, or it can mean freedom. In co-dependency, my wife was my legs. To wave a white flag meant to be shot at dawn.
As I packed a duffel, it felt almost out of my control. I was relieved of command while my subconscious took over.
Your plan needs to be fixed, Doro. It is time to activate Plan B.