lately. Probably because I’ve finally decided that I’m done.
When someone who was very special to your wife dies, and your wife attempts to go to her funeral, only to find out afterwards HOW she died, and your wife comes home and, through tears, tells you what happens . . . YOU DON’T LAUGH.
It wouldn’t be funny if it were a stranger.
I no longer even want to care how he feels or what he thinks. It doesn’t count anymore. What little pity I had left for him evaporated with my tears.
With all the name calling and screaming and breaking my things and insulting my family and telling me that I’m worthless . . . that one laugh resonated so deep. Too deep.