The room was empty

This was a prompt from a writing site. Decided to run with it. This one scares me to tackle as it involves emotional baggage and past experience, however I strongly believe that writing is incredibly therapeutic and can help to heal wounds. So here we go!

"The Room Was Empty"

  The room was empty. Nearly empty, anyway. The walls, once filled with framed photographs and shelves of memories, now stood barren. My brothers had taken the bed over to my mom's house, along with all of the other good furniture that wasn't borrowed. I leaned against one of the empty walls and reflected on the chapter in my life that was suddenly and violently ending. How could the sun be shining so brightly when my world was falling down around me? In a corner of the room, I left a pile for him-- the one who left me. The warm blanket his mother had made for us, the teddy bear with the bow tie of stars and moons that I had given him while we were dating, the Kama Sutra book his friend had given him at his bachelor party, and a nearly full box of condoms on top of the pile, something we hadn't needed in awhile. 

  The trouble didn't start the night he left. It had been building for months and I had chosen to ignore it and turn a blind eye to the signs that were glaringly obvious. The week long business trip that had begun with multiple phone calls and texts. Those communications had slowed and finally stopped by the end of the week. There was someone with red hair. A roommate at the conference. How could I compete? If I had tried harder, would it have made a difference? My lawyer said it wouldn't have. I had merely been a test, a chance to prove that he was straight, that he was normal. That's why he took our engagement portrait and marriage certificate. He could show that he had tried. He could blame it on me, that perhaps I left him unfulfilled. 

   I couldn't stay in that room. A room where we had once been united, where we had loved. The office across the hall wasn't nearly as empty. I had taken the new desk and left him the old one. I took the new dresser, it was his wedding gift to me after all, and the bookcase I bought. I left his pile of books, photos, cards and letter on the floor. I wanted to burn all of the cards I had given him but my heart wouldn't let me. So I left them. He could do with them as he pleased. I left his clothing unharmed in the closet. Some women slash shirts or dump everything out on the lawn. I couldn't do that to his things. Instead I leaned into the closet and just smelled them. Cliche, I know. His cologne lingered and the masochistic side of me longed to memorize it, drink it in and feel it, along with all the memories tied to it. How could so much come with a fragrance?

For a couple of years after, I couldn't stand to smell it. Stocking the cosmetics department at work, I would walk by that cologne in its black box and my body would involuntarily shudder. I fought the urge to once again drink in the memories that haunted me. If I gave in, I would lose the battle. He may have won with his premeditated sneak attack the night he picked our last fight, but I wouldn't let another ounce of my emotions be lost to him. 

  I left our apartment, the place we had shared our hearts, bodies, and minds. The place we had begun to build a life. All of the dried roses, so many roses, were face down in the kitchen waste basket. My sister in law had packed every last dish and spoon into boxes and bags with a fiery passion. I knew she, along with the rest of my family, felt that pain that I had kept hidden for two weeks as I had tried, begged, pleaded, for him to return. An exercise in futility. He had been planning his escape for two months at least, putting a deposit on an apartment, cleaning out our bank account and canceling our cable and internet services. Once I had proof of his intentions, I knew that nothing I said or did would bring him back. Even if he had come back, what would we have then?

  The living room was devoid of decorations, knick knacks and pictures. I took the sofa my friend had given me and left the one we had been borrowing. I also left the television that belonged to his friend. A shame, it was really nice. I at least had the one from the bedroom. I also took the vcr and dvd player. I took his whole collection of speakers, not sure at the time why I was taking them. Most likely it was just vengeance. He was proud of his collection. Later I thought I might give them as a peace offering during settlement. They were even piled into the trunk of my car the day we met to sign papers with my attorney. I donated them to a thrift store after the meeting. I didn't, and still don't, feel bad about it.

   While I was running a load of items from the apartment over to my mom's house, he showed up. He let himself in, most likely because my car wasn't there. He didn't know that my little brother was in the kitchen, awaiting my return. He looked around the empty apartment, looking confused and dismayed and threw his arms in the air. My brother stayed out of sight and watched this play out. In resignation, my former love shook his head and walked out the front door. Again. He didn't leave a note this time. He knew he had been defeated. I was, by far, more vindictive than he could ever have imagined. Men just don't seem to take seriously the old adage about a woman scorned. He took me seriously after that day. 

  I won alimony which was unheard of for a ten month marriage with both partners working full time. He took my heart, my virginity and a bit of my sanity. I took his money and his ability to claim single. He wanted an annulment, I declined. He will now have to claim divorced. He got his freedom, but I left with my dignity in place. 

  A part of me still loves him, or at least certain memories of him. Popcorn and gummy candy, flowers for no reason. Hiking and walking, music and movies. It wasn't all bad. I forgave him several years ago. I had to in order to completely commit to my new family, a husband who adores me and children who fill every empty place in my heart. 

  The room was empty. My heart was empty. I walked out for the last time, a changed woman. No longer a child. I knew too much and could never return to blissful ignorance. In that moment I hated him. Hated myself. Now I wish him all the best the world has to offer. he taught me things I wouldn't otherwise have learned. I am strong. I can fight like a lion when pushed. I can forgive. I can love and be loved. My rooms and heart are filled now. My cup runneth over.