We separated after thirty-six years of marriage, and for the next two years, I lived with a grief I could not properly name.
Part of me felt betrayed. Another part of me missed him so badly it embarrassed me.
What haunted me most was not even anger. It was incompleteness.
There had been no confession. No explanation. No final truth I could hold in my hands and say, This is why everything ended.
Then Troy died suddenly.
I went to the funeral unsure whether I still belonged in the front pew of his life. The church was full of people praising his kindness, his patience, his loyalty.
I sat there feeling like I had once known him, then lost access to the final rooms of his heart.
