It has been many years since I last thought of you, my former husband, and perhaps you will never read these words. In any case, they need not be read; everything has already been said. Time has simply given me a different perspective on the passions of youth.
Twenty years have passed since the court officially dissolved our marriage. I can still picture that day in the old courthouse in Manchester. The judge urged us to consider carefully before reaching a decision, reminding us of our fourteenyearold daughter. Yet I was resolute: Make it swift; set us free from each other. You said nothing, neither agreeing nor refusing, and the sentence was handed down.
From that moment the family ceased to exist. Our lives drifted apart like parallel tracks, and we became strangers who no longer spoke. There was no reason to maintain contact; we had nothing left in common. Then came Emily, our little girl, who could not understand why Mother and Father were no longer together. She asked, Why arent you both here any more? We had never argued loudly nor aired grievances; we had laughed, lived happily, and seemed forever bound.
You never declared love in words, but it was evident in your gaze and deeds. You always gave me gifts that bore a meaning, little tokens that spoke louder than any proclamation. I recall New Years Eve when you hung a funny plush angel on the fir treewhere you had bought it, I never learned. As the clock struck twelve you said, May this angel be a symbol of our love. That tiny guardian hung above the front door for all the years we shared, and each Christmas it was lifted back onto the tree, as if protecting our bliss. It seemed to workuntil it did not.
I fell for you without warning, a passion as fierce as a storm, dark and allconsuming, a devilish obsession that swept away reason. It was a forbidden liaison: you were already married with two daughters, and I was a respectable woman with a husband. We crossed every line, leaving our familiesyour wife and children, my husband and sonreeling in misery while we, intoxicated by sin, saw nothing but the flame of desire.
Half a year of madness later I awoke to a harsh clarity. Lord, I thought, we are utterly differentlike night and day. What have I done? The same dream haunted me nightly: I tried to enter my home, only to find it encircled by a thick, sucking mire that dragged me back, pulling the house ever farther away. When I finally clawed my way out of that abyss, you had already built a new life with another family. I understand, though I do not judge; everyone yearns for love, stability, and peace.
Since then the river of time has flowed onwardyouth, a daughter, a granddaughter. Those are the only threads that still link us, David. Is that little enough? Our destinies have simply taken different roads.
Now the New Year draws near again. I will hang our angel once more upon the Christmas tree; it has survived the years, though its wings have fallen off.
