Following on, briefly, from the previous post, I recall desperately wishing so many things in the aftermath of his betrayal. One of the things that stands out was wishing he had left me. I still think of that often. If he had taken my choices away, I think it would have been easier. I wanted him to live with her, and get really miserable. Feel rotten after a brief honeymoon period. He admits that was his vision, too, and probably one of the main reasons he didn’t leave. We both saw that she was a piece of shit, a taker. I wanted to be able to breezily drop the kids off, or meet for coffee and discuss something, me, with my (then) brand new, skinny body, and new outlook, I knew I would recover, and thrive. But staying, and trying to recapture what we once had has been exhausting, and a grueling task, an endurance feat the likes of which I have never experienced. I wanted him to leave me, and be bloody miserable. But mostly I wanted to show him how I could thrive without his lying, cheating ass.