I signed my divorce papers; he signed last week. I'm not even sad, just relieved that it is finally over and that I can, in the hackneyed words that appear at least once in every episode of every soap opera, "get on with my life".
When my breast cancer metastasized to Stage IV, my beloved husband, whom I loved and supported for 29 years, told me things "just never were right" and dumped me for a younger, healthier version of myself, who has two breasts. Wah, wah, wah.
I'll probably have a lot to say on this topic herein, but I have other stuff to say, too. (I am determined to have other stuff to say.)
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