After the divorce, I was left with three things: a small house on the outskirts of town, my three-year-old son Kevin, and silence.
My husband had stripped me of everything else: our car, our accounts, even the coffee machine I had bought for myself.
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“You’re lucky, really,” the lawyer said. “You got the house because of the child.”
Lucky. What a joke. He just didn’t want to pay child support.
For the first month after the divorce, I breathed. I sat in the kitchen and waited for the day I’d want to do something again. Sometimes, turned on the stove just to hear a sound.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Eventually, I started coming back to life. I found comfort in takeaway coffee cups, a blush palette I dug out from the bottom of a forgotten makeup bag, and weekly conversations with my friend Sofie.
