Chapter 11 - My Wedding Ring
At Dad’s house, I removed my wedding ring.
Then put it back on.
Then removed it again.
I did that for three days.
Caroline—Dad’s sister—finally asked:
“Do you want a bowl?”
“For what?”
“To put the ring in so you can stop losing it in couch cushions.”
I laughed for the first time.
Then cried.
I loved Ethan.
That statement embarrassed me.
Dad corrected me.
“It shouldn’t.”
“You hate him.”
“Yes.”
“I still love him.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because feelings don’t receive evidence updates on the same schedule as judgment.”
My father had spent thirty years in the Army and somehow learned one useful emotional sentence.
I wrote it down.
Loving Ethan did not mean returning.
Missing him did not make the bruises fictional.
Marriage vows did not require evidence destruction.
May you like
I put the ring in a kitchen bowl.
It stayed there until I filed for divorce.
