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I received my “Dear John” letter from Mark a month ago. He moved on to someone new, which I expected. The rational part of me knew that he wouldn’t wait for me, and I would never ask him to. However, the twinge of hurt is still here and might be here for the foreseeable future.
I look out the window on particularly lonely nights and watch the stars zoom by. I get lost in my thoughts, wondering whether Mark is happier with his new wife than he was with me. Did she give him the family he always dreamed of? Did she come home at the same time every night after work? Was she able to cook him a delicious dinner?
During the last data transmission, my mother sent a picture of Mark and his wife. She didn’t do it to make me feel bad but to curb my inevitable curiosity. The woman peering at my former fiance looked beautiful and kind. It was clear to see why he fell in love with her. She had pale skin, dirty blonde hair, and emerald green eyes. She was grinning at Mark, which showed her perfect white teeth. It was apparent she was younger than me; I couldn’t tell by how much. I genuinely hope he’s happy, but not in the same way he was happy with me. I didn’t want to think of her as a simple replacement.
I deleted the photo and selfishly hoped Mark wasn’t happier with her as he once was with me.