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I don't know how I got here, I really don't. Someone told me, not long ago that life is simply a series of decisions. You have the choice to say either yes or no to any one of those decisions. So somehow, in some way, I chose to be here. To walk away from everything I knew....

It all seems so long ago now. Faded. The memories.... well, they lie in a dusty shoebox that I've stored at the back of my mind. It's easier that way. Sometimes I get them out and dust them off... but mostly they simply lie, dormant and undisturbed.

This is a nice town. The people are nice, polite... distant. Or maybe the distance is my own. Knowing people, loving them.... it's too hard now. The risk that someone will crack the husk and see the emptiness inside terrifies me.

I've been out on dates. Well-meaning acquaintances trying to put a smile on my face. They are always... nice. Always dinner, dancing, a good bottle of wine... and goodbye at the door. If they ask me of my past? I only smile and change the subject. The memories have faded, but somehow the pain hasn't. I still find myself waking in the middle of the night, aching simply to see him, to see my children. It's been four long years and I miss them all like it was yesterday.

*

Of all the questions I've ever asked, and believe me, there've been plenty, only one remains. Is she happy?

Our daughter seems to think she is, but I have this feeling..... I just want her to be happy. God, that's such a lie. I just want her. But if I can't have her, then I want her to be happy. She deserves that, after everything she has suffered.

I guess I've accepted that she will never come back. The first two years were the hardest, always wanting, hoping that she would walk through that door. I kept waiting for it to get easier, but it never did. It was just... different. It's an ache, like a hole that can only be filled by her. But I know now it'll always be empty. That's my punishment for what I did to her. For breaking her. For driving her away.

She's like brilliant sunshine in my world with her gentleness and her bubbling laughter. And without her, everyday is overcast and grey. I want her back, but I have no right to ask her. I tried that once before, and it was a disaster. I won't put her through that again.

*

He came after me, not long after I moved here. He begged me to come home, but all I could do was look at him and cry. I loved him so, but he was tearing me to shreds and I couldn't live like that any more. At some point, I wondered how it would be possible that there were any tears left to cry. But somehow they come, clear and freshly agonizing each time.

And so, he left me and true to my request, he hasn't tried to contact me since. Sometimes in my weaker moments I wish he would, I wish he would rush in here and sweep me off my feet like the wild impulsive fool he used to be. But then, I guess we have both been hurt too much to wear our hearts on our sleeves anymore. Caution rules our thoughts and actions and that's the way it should be. Because for all my weak moments, I know I could never survive that kind of pain again. I barely survived it the last time and I know that part of me died when I left them. How could it not?

*

My son... our son.... I wish I had made this distinction when it really mattered. Maybe it might have made some difference. To her, to him... to all of us. I made so many screw-ups, it's hard to know which one rates more highly then the others. For all our experience with mixed families, we sure screwed this one up well and good. We all bear blame, but the boy knew exactly what he was doing. He admitted it after she had gone, the little bastard actually gloated about how he had made her life such a misery.... At which point, I did what she had wanted all along and kicked him out. He's living somewhere in LA now but we don't talk much.