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Part III · Exposure

Thanksgiving

November 27th 2024 A week ago, you left— handcuffed in the back of a squad car. I still can’t believe I finally stood up to you. The kids think you’re on a business trip, but we both know the truth. Sometimes they ask why the police took you. I spin a story— you’re on a secret mission, fighting villains, saving the world. But we both know you chose this. You chose yourself. The restraining order was your prize. Now you’re gone this Thanksgiving— too busy “saving the world.” We skipped the turkey. The kids made pizza instead, toppings scattered like the promises we broke. They made one for you— just in case. I told them I’d save it. But we both know: there’s no coming back.

Letters I'll Never Send

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