My wife asked me to move out about nine months ago. I still miss her a lot, and admitting that makes me feel foolish. After everything that happened, I wish those two feelings would stop arriving together.
We had been together for ten years. As far as I understood it, we were doing fine. We had our family life, and I thought we were both still in it. Looking back, I wonder whether she had gotten tired of that life with me. I don’t know. That’s the explanation I keep reaching for, but I can’t say it was hers.
Then I found out she was seeing a coworker.
We argued for weeks. Eventually, things settled down, and for a while there was less fighting. I still don’t know how much I mistook that quiet for things getting better. Then she started going out again.
After that came the request that I leave. Now nine months have passed, which sounds like enough time to have a clearer answer when I ask myself how I’m doing. Mostly, I’m still confused.
I miss being with her. Saying that doesn’t erase what she did, but knowing what she did doesn’t switch off the missing her, either. We spent ten years together. My feelings haven’t caught up with the fact that we no longer share that life.
Some days, the hardest part is how quickly missing her turns into being embarrassed with myself. I’ll want her back in my life, then wonder how I can possibly want that.
It’s been nine months since she asked me to go. I’m still trying to understand how I can feel so hurt by her and still wish I were with her.
