To Begin Again I Had to Disappear
<p>The nondescript four-door economy-class sedan pulled up to the curb. I gave the driver a curt nod to acknowledge that he was in the right place and then I returned my attention to my ex, who stood in front of me looking properly disheveled. Shaken. It was July of 2020 and I was about to go to rehab.</p>
<p>I had asked her to meet me so I could communicate some last-minute logistical details, probably in a poorly-veiled attempt to lessen the effect of my hasty departure upon her and the kids. <em>I’ll be back in a few weeks</em>, I said. That would turn out to be false, but I believed it at the time.</p>
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