What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. At least, that's what they say. Am I though? It's hard to tell. I'm not dead either, so there's that. Although, some days I place my fingers on my wrist, just to check. You never know, I've missed things before. Like the moment he stopped loving me. When did that happen? Was I too busy to notice or too tired to care? Either is possible, both are likely. Even now I have to muster up the emotion to feel hurt and loss, slipping it on like a new jumper I've been gifted, but don't really like. It itches and smells funny―smells like her.

I wonder if he tried to tell me in his own way―muffled and monosyllabic. Did I respond with a 'yeah, okay,' or 'that's fine,' not realising I was discussing the demise of our marriage? Did it matter? I'm not even sure I'd have put up a fight. Those days were long gone along with romance and sexual attraction. Distant memories, hard to hold on to and disappearing through the cracks of our failing relationship. When I try to picture him with her, I can't. I can't picture him with anyone, not even me. I barely remember what his face looks like and I only saw him yesterday. All I come up with is a furrowed brow cloaking uneasy eyes.

He came for the rest of his stuff. I didn't even know he had stuff until I saw the boxes stacked in the spare room. Where was he was hiding it all? Somewhere dark I suspect, along with his intentions. The strange thing is the house doesn't appear to be missing anything. There are no gaping holes now that he's gone. Perhaps that's because he's been gone for years. Slowly removing parts of himself to prepare for his big departure.

I saw number thirty-six's curtains twitching when he loaded the boxes into his van. Not that she can talk, hers left three years ago with the guy from the leisure centre. Living in Brighton now I heard. At least we never had any kids. Not through choice, or any kind of malfunction, it just never happened. Maybe my womb paid better attention than I did. Sensed the finality of it all and shut up shop. Although, it would be nice to have someone, especially now, but that's just selfish. Maybe he was right about me.

'Always thinking of yourself,' was the last statement he threw at me before he left. I tried to shut the door but it slid in through the gap and punched me in the gut. If I'd thought about myself more I wouldn't have stayed with him all these years! Or would I? The signs were there, I just dressed them up as something else. Excuses were my specialty, my pièce de résistance. I served them for every meal. Gorged on falsehoods and got fat on lies.

I haven't decided if I'll bother telling the ladies at bingo. It's the kind of thing they lap up on a weekly basis, but would they even know I had a husband? I don't think I ever mentioned him. Maybe I'll not say anything, keep it to myself. Save any awkward questions and explanations. I'm not even sure I'll go back. I never win anyway.