this morning #501.

this morning, having to hear secondhand about her third husband’s untimely demise felt like less of a prize than she’d expected. way back in ‘86, in the final months before they’d finally split, it hit her that she’d become a kept woman, perpetually nervous & devoid of purpose. her masters in art history was going to waste. her B.A. in business dried up. she spent her time at home, gossiping on the phone all day long with other neighborhood women living under similar circumstances. one day, her third husband snapped at her for the last time & she finally snapped out of it. twenty-five years later, she felt little joy in his death. she just felt sorry for him. he never got to see who she truly was.