We started out starry eyed—white wedding, honeymoon in the tropics. Then we built the house of our dreams. It was all downhill after that. We argued. I started drinking. Jan left and came back more times than I cared to remember.
Divorce came as a blessed relief but our truce didn’t extend to the house. The wall I bisected it with was an uncomfortable solution.
We grew older and wiser—started talking again. Eventually Jan said, ‘let’s just tear the bloody thing down.’
Faded boards either side showed where the wall between us had been. Jan took one look at the uneven halves—. ‘You bastard, Harry. You can put it back up. In the right spot this time…no wait——.’ And she indicated a line with her foot. It compensated for the space I’d cribbed so long ago that I’d forgotten. She threw a little extra in for good measure.
small stories about love 