We met in high school, reconnected at our 25-year reunion. It was a whirl-wind romance and six months later we were married. We were in love, it seemed, but cursed.
Illnesses plagued us; his mine, our parents, even one of our kids (his not mine), one right after another. It was as if we were in one of those defunct television dramas and binging on Netflix.
Finally, after three years I had enough. Our season was over. I emptied our bank account, bought an RV, and headed south. I left a note, but he never even called.
This week’s photo: © C.E. Ayr