“Will you pick the colors for the siding?” My husband’s voice is raw and tender. He pauses, then says softly, “You’ve decorated all our homes.”
I press my cell phone against my ear, and study the black and white Art Deco tiles in my mother’s kitchen backsplash. He is asking me to choose the palette for the Frank Lloyd Wright cottage he wants to build in the woods. A house I will never live in. He still doesn’t understand I’ve left. “I probably shouldn’t—it might send a mixed message,” I say. Saying no to my soon-to-be ex-husband’s request is hard for me, but my therapist insists I set boundaries and stick to them.
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