Smithereens

papers_smithereens
smithereens
  1. small pieces; bits: broken into smithereens.

 

He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said that had smashed their marriage into smithereens.

It was one fight, then two, then silence, followed later by more cutting words and even more bitter silence.

Staring at the divorce papers on his office desk, he sat there wishing he could take it all back, that it could be like it was before when he could apologize and that would be the end of it. But it was too late for that now. He’d left her too often for too long. He’d treated their marriage like an organization, as if he had a membership card, and now he was no longer granted access to his wife– well, soon-to-be ex-wife.

The ballpoint pen trembled in his shaky hand.

Her elegant signature was an obvious contrast to the emotionless print that detailed how much of his life he would no longer enjoy.

The money wasn’t a problem and he didn’t care about the house, she could even have the cars.

What he wanted to keep was the way her nose wrinkled and she silently gasped for air before releasing her riotous laugh. Or how she always found her way to his side of the bed at some point in the middle of the night and stole all of the covers–the sleepy, innocent look on her face when he woke up feeling cold. Those were the things he wanted to keep, the things he’d missed out on after too many late nights at work.

He wanted to call her and explain how he’d done everything to make sure she was happy–everything but give more of himself–and now he realized how wrong he’d been. But the time for talking was over.

She’d waved her white flag and had given up the fight, but selfishly he wasn’t ready to do the same.

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