I called a girlfriend and booked the next ticket to Ibiza.
I danced until dawn, woke at noon, and headed to the beach at 4 pm with a stack of books, my reading interrupted only by lunch, Spanish-style, an hour later. It was heaven. I missed my husband.
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And I remember exactly where I was standing when I told him—tired of recounting the events of my day to him in my head—to come back to me.
It’s been seven years, and I’ll say this: I’ll always be frightened by the gravitas of love. I’ll always be edging one toe out the door. And I’ll count on the man I married to gently pull me back. Because when I forget why we’re sure the earth is round, he draws a map to remind me. Because any friend of my mine is a friend of his, but he also knows when to go to bed so I can be alone with that friend. What Not To Say When A Friend Gets Divorced
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Because he makes me laugh, but I make him laugh harder. And yes, there will always be someone else who needs him, stat. Lucky them. And then he comes always comes home. Lucky me.