She asks me "When does it start getting better?" and I have to answer, with all sincerity, that "It doesn't get any better, it just gets different" "Well, you seem a lot happier than when you first came" She says this, now knowing the circumstances of my arrival "I've had four years to work on my facade four years to adjust and adapt four years to become accustomed to different acclimated is perhaps the better word" She nods and she sighs "I can't trust him anymore. In my gut, I feel it's what I need to do" I want to tell her it is no magic pill I want to tell her that trading in one hand won't necessarily bring her a better one I want to tell her it is merely exchanging one set of problems for another But I don't. Instead, I tell her that the hardest part is going it alone not just for one night nor a week nor a month but for always. Always alone At that she smiles, "I can't wait to be alone and get a break from this hell" Neither could I

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