This morning, I wore a black dress splashed with bright flowers. The black symbolized the death of my marriage, but the bursts of color represented hope and happiness for the future.
As I walked to the courthouse with my lawyer, we talked of today being the 73rd anniversary of the D-Day invasion at Normandy in 1944. I said, "This is my own personal D-Day. Liberation from this marriage."
A marriage born from second chances, of hope and happiness.
A marriage killed by infidelity, lies, and betrayal.
My ex did not show up at the court proceedings. I didn't expect him to face what he'd done in a court of law.
My lawyer asked me to verify that the signatures on the divorce document were mine. "Yes."
"And do you know your husband's signature? Is that his signature?"
I stared at the familiar scrawl, and tears clogged my throat and stung my eyes. "Yes."
"Is your marriage irretrievably broken?"
A firm answer on my part. "YES."
And it was soon over. I walked back to my car, and once safely within its confines, I lost it. I cried and thought of how you say goodbye to 18 years with someone, how one sentence from the judge dissolves it, how the ex didn't care that it was over. I cursed him for doing this to me, for shattering my heart into thousands of pieces.
I bought myself a donut because I deserved one, darn it, and came home. A migraine began to creep over my skull and I took a pill, then popped The Longest Day into my DVD player, the movie about the Normandy invasion.
Today is my own personal D-Day. I am liberated from a marriage destroyed by infidelity, and I will emerge from this stronger than ever. I am not broken. I am a survivor.
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