Over the course of my divorce, I went to the courthouse a total of four times.
A few months after my ex left, sometime in late January, I was sitting around, minding my own business and rebuilding my life. And then WHAM! I got a hostile text from my ex saying that the paralegal he hired for our divorce had been trying (unsuccessfully) to serve me with divorce papers.
Once I had sufficiently avoided the panic of never being loved again by embracing the fairytale, I then wanted to watch things that were a tad bit more realistic. I needed to watch someone hurting like I was hurting, and feel comforted or amused by how they were handling it. So I turned to heartbreak movies.
“Where’s daddy?” My beautiful baby girl asked nonchalantly, without even looking at me. She was shuffling toys around trying to decide which one to play with next. She was clearly expecting a quick and easy answer that would confirm what she suspected - that he’d be back any moment. Little did she know that was not the case.
There was a relatively short period of time wherein I was completely unsure of the fate of my marriage. In that time, I was desperately trying to figure out what was happening, why it was happening, what was going to happen, and how I could change it. In conversations with family and friends, there was one common response I kept getting - “oh, he’ll be back.”