Taken from life. “The ex -husband arranged his life”: and I still can't start again

Three years have passed. < img src = "https://zycie.news/crrops/3c8f6e/620x0/1/0/2025/03/13/vqycggmgmgjfpadlrqnqnqyuizcgivlnxukfo3oa.jpg" alt = "woman @pexels" styles = "background-color: rgba (61,63,60,1)" > < p > Three long years since he packed his things and left. No quarrels, no screaming. He just looked and said: < br />< br /> & mdash; & AMP; Bdquo; I'm not happy anymore. I want to spill & oacute; ndash; otherwise. &

< p > then I thought it was just a crisis. That Wr & oacute; That he will understand. That this is not how over twenty years of the & oacute life.

< P >But he didn't look back. Today he has a new partner. Younger. Smiling. Always perfectly dressed.

< p > I saw them by accident in a shopping mall. They walked with the child's hand & ndash; Not his, her. But he looked at them as he once looked at ours.

< p > smiling. Quiet. As if & Hellip; fulfilled.

< p > and I ? I stand still. With one cup in the cabinet. With empty & oacute; With silence, which & oacute; ran more than loneliness.

< p > all m & oacute; bind: < br /> & mdash; & bdquo; time heals wounds. ” & AMP; BDQUO; Start to live for yourself. ” & AMP; BDQUO; Everything is still ahead of you. < p > but how to start something new when the whole heart still lives in the past ?

< p > When every thing at home reminds him of & ndash; that I used to be a woman, wife, partner.

< p > and now I'm just myself. And I don't know if it is enough. PR & Amp; Oacute; I won. I arranged coffee. I accepted an invitation to a date.

< p > I smiled through a clenched throat. But everything shouted in me: < br />< br /> & mdash; & AMP; BDQUO; It's not him. That's not it. It's not us. & Amp;

< p > he cut off the past like scissors.

< p > and I still stick to every thread of memories, as if it were to save me.

< p > sometimes I wonder:

< p > Did I love him so much or I just can't exist ?

< p > I don't know.

< p > but I know one thing: every day when I stand in front of the mirror and I don't cry & ndash; it's a small victory. < p > and maybe one day I will not be just & bdquo; ex -wife & but a woman who learned to breathe again.

< p > Only not for him anymore. For yourself.