One of my colleagues asked me if I won.
Can I tell you the truth?
A long time ago, a younger version of me stood in front of God and her friends and her family and promised until death do them part. A long time ago a man loved that young woman enough to make a life with her. To buy a house, to build traditions and create inside jokes. To dig gardens and decorate Christmas trees. Wash dishes and laundry. To bury his father and her mother and their child.
His father’s photo still hangs in the kitchen. His grandparent’s wedding clock hangs on the dinning room wall. Our son’s ashes sit on the shelf in the dinning room. 38 years worth of Christmases. 16 years of marriage. We grew up together and then we grew apart.
At about the same time, in buildings only a few blocks apart, a new title will be registered at Land Titles. Divorce paperwork will pass under a judge’s eyes and be signed. The courts will mail out the decree. Land Titles will send me a letter when they re-registered the title in my name.
My colleague, he was asking about money.
He missed the greater part. We lost on growing old together. We ended companionship and and gave up on tomorrows.
Tomorrow I will dress with care. Bite my lip, focus and put one foot in front of the other. Hand over the documents to end my marriage and sign the documents to buy my house. And then I’ll come home. And curl up in a ball on my bed, and weep.
There are no winners.