They want it to have felt like victory, and I understand why; it makes a better story.

But standing in my own hallway with the door shut and the two of them out on the porch, what I felt was mostly tired.

Seven years of my life were on the other side of that door, along with a version of the future I had believed in on my wedding day, and closing the door on the man also meant closing it on her — on the woman I’d been who thought love meant making yourself the reliable, uncomplaining foundation of someone else’s life.

I didn’t mourn Camden.