There was no warning that it was coming. Those in the know were surprised, but not shocked, at the attack. Should of known, though. There were the clandestine meetings with the enemy. Coded calls throughout the days and nights. The kisses and promises of no wrong doing. Then it came. On the heels of another big skirmish. The phone call that started (finished?) the whole thing.
“I made an appointment with a ‘crisis center’. You have to move out or I’m filing a Temporary Restraining Order.” Basically, she said you can either come get your stuff out of the house (you’ve got an hour) or I’m filing. Quick calls to the allied forces. They advised moving out.
Hind-sight. Shoulda seen it coming. Found out later, that one week later she was celebrating with the boyfriend at an expensive restaurant in the area. Three weeks after that spending a couple of thousand in Vegas.
I guess the attack was effective. I’m out of the way. Out of the house. He’s in it.
This day, too, will live forever in infamy.
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