Some things just hit home.
There is a certain kind of hatred that comes with divorce.
And not just the hatred parents have for each other, no; I’m talking about the hatred the parents grow for their children. Maybe it’s short-lived, a flash, one second, he glimpses something in his son, the curve of his mouth, his eyelashes, that resembles his ex-wife, and for that second, feels contempt. Maybe she sees in her daughter, a slight swagger to her walk, or maybe more evident, the color of her skin, what would have been a dark chocolate but now a coffee stain by her exhusbands porcelain flesh. It is these things, temporary, permanent, that summon the most hatred. Some see past it, and others, they can’t. They flee. Bad divorce, good divorce (remind me again what a good divorce is?)- it doesn’t matter: the children will always be reflections, mirrors, of what once was. This pain…
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