Well, I've been debating whether or not to share something personal with you, but I'm going to. You're my friends.
Nine weeks ago, my husband of 25 years walked out on me. Just went. No warning, no argument, no other woman (or man).
He lives fifteen miles away now. He asked the council to rehouse him, so they did. He got a flat within three weeks (which is normal in Argyll).
My two DC who live in this village (where I'm living, I mean) have seen him several times. There is definitely nobody else. I have a daughter and a son who live in their own separate flats here (I mean, not together).
Sorry if this post is garbled and doesn't make sense.
My husband and I are both 69.
Isn't that an awful thing to have done? For no reason. Well, no reason I can figure out.
Mind you, now that I've got rid of all his clothes, books and other odds and sods, there is much more space for mine. Especially my clothes.
He hasn't contacted me once since he left.
And all I feel..........
ALL. I. FEEL is rage. I'm furious with him. I'm not sad. I don't even miss him.
I should miss him. But I don't. What he did was brutal. Emotionally.