The last thing I did before he took me home was change into the outfit I'd bought for the wedding. I still don't know if it was cruelty or kindness that made me do it. We drove the hour back in silence, Tom Waits on the stereo, and me in that dress. I watched him drive away, then sat down and cried.
I promised him I wouldn't blame myself over what happened. I do that enough for things that aren't my fault, he said. I just wish I could blame someone, be angry with anyone, to feel something other than broken right now. I can't be angry with him— not to sound like a complete idiot, but I love him too much for that— so it doesn't leave me many options. Besides, it's a familiar enough hat for me to try on. One more time around the block won't make it any worse.
So, here I sit.
24 years old.
Alone in my apartment, crying.
I've got my whole life ahead of me.
With my luck, it'll be a long one.