I leave the room, the one I shared with her for years. I close the door and proceed down the hallway. Her scent lingers in the air, even though she isn’t here. Her presence permeates this place, despite her absence. Everything screams her name, and that’s what traps me in this endless loop.
"Why did I have to find out everything like this? How hard would it have been for her to look for me?"
I didn’t know her, had no memory of her, and what I knew, what was presented to me, was for my own benefit. But she always knew about me, was always aware of my presence. Why did she let it happen? If she loved me so much, why didn’t she fight?
I was her husband, and if I base it on her truths, she had every damn right to impose herself, to not give in, and to push them aside.
It was easier to let
