My whole life, you were my hero. You kissed my boo-boos, sang me silly songs, went on long bike rides with me. You always gave me the best advice, ever. I don’t know what went wrong. If it was me, or mom, or what. But one day, you left. There was no depressing piano music playing in the background. I didn’t chase after your car. I didn’t cry. I just listened to my heart tear apart. There was no explanation, no apology, or sincerity, no expression, no explanation. You just walked out the door and never planned to look back. Mom didn’t even know because she was at work. I had to call her and give her the news. Thanks for that. After twenty years of marriage, the least you could do was give your wife the respect to tell her you’re leaving her. You moved to the city, got a girlfriend, just moved on. You left us. You completely changed. You are not the person I thought you were. Because of you, I am terrified of what someone will do to me. I have an iron shield around my heart. Because of you, I question what I could have done differently, what I could have said, or done, or changed, to make you stay just a little longer. I don’t want to get married. Because I know now what happens when you let someone in. They walk away. They tell you they’ve moved on and you should do the same. You forgot the memories, the old house, the cats, the neighbors, the life. The divorce is almost fully finalized, the last part of your life that is somewhat attached to us. Thanks for damaging us. Thanks for ruining the family I thought was unbreakable. Thanks for making me feel I’m the crazy one. Thanks for the twenty dollars you give me every other month. That really helps.