Well, I’m knee deep in boxes, living out of a suitcase, and preparing to move. (Again.)
It’s almost funny how familiar it feels. At the end of this month, I will have moved four times in a year.
I have been in this house just eight months, and it feels very strange to say goodbye so soon, to something I thought would be so permanent.
I placed a lot of hope in this house. Its four walls represented the entirety of a dream I’d been hungering after for years. Stability, security, a chance for our little family to finally put down roots and grow. But just a few months after we moved in, unbeknownst to me, the slow tearing down of my marriage had begun.
This house wasn’t what I thought it would be. You weren’t who I thought you were.