A few months after our third anniversary, two things happened. We separated, and my mom got breast cancer. She stayed at her sister’s house for about two weeks, and then brought her stuff back to the house. Things went back to normal after that, and by normal, I mean silent misery.
Later, when we were enjoy the descent into real divorce territory, she told me the only reason she came back was because my mom got cancer essentially the same week she tried to leave.
Yet another reason for me to wish my mom never got cancer in the first place.
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