Ava Mallory

  Almost seven years ago, my life fell apart. It wasn't a perfect life. We (my ex-husband and I) weren't even pretending we were happy. We went through the motions. Correction. I went through the motions. He disconnected more and more every day. I saw it. I knew it was happening. I cried, yelled, begged, pretended it wasn't happening. But that's not what this post is about. That's old news. It happened. He left. No forwarding address. No phone number. (In a rage, I had his phone shut off.) He left and didn't look back. I, on the other hand, wallowed, and continue to wallow, in the pain. I don't like it. I try to ignore it, pretend I'm over it, live life as if none of what happened matters. But night after night, day after day, it's there. It festers under the service. It's behind the smile. It's masked by jubilant social media posts. That's my fault. I let that happen to me. I let that pain become as much a part of me as my curly hair and...