I couldn't think of a single one.
From the very first day I met Cliff Fox, I loved him with everything I had.
We met at a friend's birthday party. He was standing in the corner, holding a glass of wine he hadn't touched, barely speaking, but every word he did say landed exactly right.
I was drawn to him.
It wasn't until later that I found out he'd just broken up with Phyllis Henson. She'd gotten an offer abroad and was leaving the country for three years. Long-distance is too hard, she'd said. Let's end it. He didn't ask her to stay.
The friend who told me about it warned me to think it through.
“He probably hasn't let her go yet.”
I said it didn't matter.
I thought time could change everything.
I spent three years chasing him, three years waiting for him to let me in, waiting for him to let go of her, waiting for him to finally see me.
Then finally, on some ordinary evening, he said to me：“Let's get married.”
No flowers. No ring. No getting down on one knee. He just said it over dinner, out of nowhere.
I still cried from happiness.
I said yes.
I thought he'd finally seen me.
Now I understand. He didn't see me. He was just tired. He needed a marriage, needed a wife, needed a reason to settle down.
And I happened to be there.
Anyone would have done. I just happened to be there.
Tears soaked into the pillow, and I didn't wipe them away.
Then I laughed at myself. What was the point? Could crying bring my baby back? Could it bring my uterus back? Could it make Cliff walk toward me on the day of the crash?
No.
So I wiped my eyes, sat up, picked up my phone, and made a call.
“Hello, Attorney James? This is Christine Simmons. I'd like to ask about filing for divorce.”
Attorney James said divorce was simple—if both sides agreed, you just signed and it was done.
“What if one side doesn't agree?” I asked.
“Then you file for divorce in court. If there's sufficient evidence that the marriage has irretrievably broken down, the court will grant it.”
“I have evidence.”
