Apparently it’s the first of September today. The first day of Spring. I lost count, so I will just have to believe them.
Time moves agonisingly slowly in here. Some days I relive her death sixty times before breakfast.
If it’s really the first of September, then I’ve been in here for eighteen months. Eighteen months is long enough to fall in love. Propose. Get married. And have a baby.
Apparently eighteen months is also enough time to fall out of love. To be unfaithful. To fight for custody of our child.
She made her choice.
Written by Alanah Andrews