It’s probably my fault. I married young. We didn’t know each other long. He brings out the worst in me. I’ve never felt so ashamed. He has no drive or ambition. I’ve been supporting him since I met him. I could go on forever. But - there’s something so liberating about just admitting it. I hate him. And I’m ok with it. I move in a week. Away from him. And while I wish this could’ve had a happier ending - I’m realizing there’s rarely anything happy about endings. It’s beginnings that have all the excitement.