Thursday, September 19, 2013

The End of a Story

Ten years ago, my second wife and I were divorced. She filed, I signed.  In her mind, it was my fault. In mine, it was ours. I left her, at that time, with 200,000 dollars and a house, which I had inherited from my parents. For nearly ten years, I continued to hope that she would share this bounty. I loved her then, and love her now, and never let go of the stubborn faith in her character, never let go of the conviction that she would ultimately see clearly, return to what I saw as a defining 'fairness' in her most basic makeup, and, finally, share whatever remained of what had been given.

Well, I heard just today, through a circuitous route, that she had sold the final portion, the house, for half its worth., and with no intention of informing me of the news.

And I am in disbelief, even now.

She is at this moment, as far as I know, walking the Way of St. James, from France to Spain. And I wonder, what can she  possibly learn that has not already been betrayed?

But do I hope, still?

Yes, of course I do.

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