L.A. Affairs: I told my husband that something had to change. I just didn’t know what would come next
Art by Holly Farndell
I wrote a love letter to the end of my marriage, and it was posted in The LA Times recently.
If you have any issues reading it, please let me know and I’ll gladly send you a PDF for your enjoyment.
As he rolled up in front of my Van Nuys duplex, his teal Ford Tempo shimmering in the speckled fall sun, a wave of first-date excitement flooded my system.
Leaning across the center console, he flung open the passenger door.
“Sorry,” he said brightly, “I threw up in that seat on the 405 yesterday, but I think I mostly cleaned it up.”
I paused, looked at the seat and then back at his hopeful, earnest face.
“I ate vitamins on an empty stomach then sat in traffic,” he said with a shrug.
Well, I thought, at least it was just partially digested vitamins and not a carne asada burrito. It could be worse.
Deciding to be the cool girl, I slid into the not-quite-clean seat and took a deep breath.