How I Survived My Divorce

Photo by Yuris Alhumaydy on Unsplash

I was sitting on my futon, huddled under the colorful afghan my mother had crocheted years before.

Snow fell outside my window, and I felt a giddy hollowness in my chest as I squirmed deeper into the warmth of my cover.

“He is a piece of shit. He is abusive. DO NOT TEXT HIM.”

The words were written in erasable ink on the white board hung on my wall. I was heart deep…