The chord
I really thought we were Thelma and Louise. Laverne and Shirley. The good cop and the bad cop. Two women, and a decade of firsts after a lot of pain. We did the first holidays — the first Christmases, the first New Years. We stood by each other through the deaths of our fathers. We sat in silence at your father’s funeral. I said goodbye to my dad through yours. We survived job pressures, kids pushing boundaries. I taught your child to swim. You took mine to her first disco when I was stuck at work. We laughed. We argued. You helped me when I was sick. I helped you when you were sad. I truly believed this was for life. But you found a reason to break away first. Accused me of excluding your child when I never did — a projection of what you had already done to mine. Because the truth is, your betrayal was great. My child lost an opportunity because you weren’t honest, because you had your own plans. I have since cut the chord. I visualized it snapping, disintegrating. I mourn what could ...
