12th March 2008
I’ve signed the lease and obtained the keys to the flat. With Dan away for the day covering a football match for the local paper, I stuffed everything I could into my suitcases and made repeated journeys to the flat. The flat is partially furnished, so at least the basics are in place.
As I unpacked my things, I thought about my mother. She died before I met Dan, of alcohol poisoning. Ironically, I think she would have liked him in some bizarre way. I also thought about my father, though I have no idea who he is. My mother used to insist that he was an American soldier stationed at a nearby base. Somehow, I think this was fantasy, but I’d like to know the truth. I’d like to meet him and ask him why he never acknowledged me as his child. Was he ashamed of me? I have always assumed that I am to blame for some reason, that his absence from my life is all my fault. Maybe this is an irrational thought, but it’s a thought that undermines my entire being.
Before I left the house, I left a note for Dan. It simply stated that I had left him, that I hoped he’d be happy in his life and asked him to please leave me alone.
I was screwing the third of three deadlocks to my front door when the enormity of what I’d done hit me and a silent tear trickled down my cheek. I brushed it away, forced a smile and told myself that tomorrow would bring fresh hope, that I’d made the right decision and I should consider myself reborn.