H is for House

            When I met Ex, I owned a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood in a nice little suburb. We decided – okay, so Ex decided and I blissfully and blindly agreed – to keep Ex’s house and sell mine. My house sold right around our wedding date, so the timing could not have worked out better.

            Ex never called his house “our” house. It was always just his. Even to me, it was his house. We used the furniture I already owned, but I considered it “our” couch and “our” dining room table, not just mine. “Our” furniture in “his” house.

           

                 

            That first summer, I spent days digging up the dead weeds and planting grass. I put Band-aids on my blisters and watered the lawn until it was a lush, green carpet. As we were pulling into the driveway one afternoon, Ex noticed the lawn. He said that his lawn looked good. His lawn.

                          

            We went inside his house and I made a dinner he decided not to eat. But that’s another story…