I was nine when my Mom told me my parents were getting divorced. I remember it was a sunny day because the sun was pouring in through my bedroom windows and my bed was shoved up against the West wall of my room at the time. This memory is burned into my retinas and into my soul.
For as long as I can remember up to this point, when they would fight, (always verbal, never physical), I would beg her especially not to get a divorce. That was usually because she was doing the screaming.
This woman would promise me every time that she wouldn’t. That it would never happen. When you tell a six or seven year old that, they take it as gospel.
Adult me knows she wanted that. I know she wanted to believe that and that is what she intended. I’ve forgiven her on most days.
Older original art by me.