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Too Little, too Late

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Dear Michael,

I stopped by the house today to pack a few things and I read the note you left me. I’m shocked that my leaving caught you by surprise. There were so many clues.

Do you not remember the time I told you I hated living here? I thought my feelings were clear. You responded by saying nothing. I was not a child throwing a tantrum. I was a woman so deeply unhappy I was worried I wasn’t going to make it.

There was an incident when you were upset that I wasn’t taking care of you as well as you liked.

“I’m angry,” you said.

“You’re an angry man and I don’t think I can live with you,” I said. I turned and walked away.

“I love you,” you said.

I said nothing.

Another time I told you I wanted out and you got angry and accused me of not sticking to our commitment. What commitment? We hardly knew each other. We weren’t married. We made no promises.

A commitment is about making changes that mutually benefit both parties. I rearranged my life to be with you. In the process, I gave up my house to save yours. What did you give up? Porn? Forgive me for pointing out the glaring discrepancies in our commitments.

You say that this is a wake-up call? That you will do whatever it takes to make our relationship work? If only you had listened and made an effort, but you chose to ignore my needs.

I know that this is not your last attempt to change my mind. You will beg and plead, argue and manipulate, swear and yell. You will do all of these things because I know you, Michael. What you won’t do is get me back. I gave you so many chances, but when I’m done, I’m done for good. It’s over.

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