And at last a photograph, sent to the wrong number by mistake, that ended every question I had been afraid to ask out loud.

The divorce moved quickly after that.

Damon wanted it quick; I understood, later, exactly why.

I remember standing in a courthouse hallway and overhearing him say to his own attorney, not troubling to lower his voice, that being married to me had been “a waste of the best years he had to start a family.” I remember the particular way that landed — not as cruelty, exactly, because cruelty at least takes you seriously enough to aim.

It landed as dismissal.