1984
By the time Jack asks me to leave, I expect it, but still, it seems sudden. It doesn't seem right that we can pass through all the stages and arrive at the end without even a decent quarrel. Heaven knows, I've tried to break through with snarls and insults and drunken diatribes. All he ever says is, "I'm happy to talk about it, Jo, when you're calm."
When I'm calmer, though, I'm frightened. Fearful of being alone. So I wheedle or joke or outright humiliate myself, begging him to reconsider, making promises we both know I can't keep, even though I know breaking up is right for me as much as him. Jack always does the right thing.
So we keep going, until the evening he comes home and firmly tells me I have to be gone by the end of the month. The end of the month. His face is set again
