By Patty Panni
“I just have one question. Do you regret it?” says the man-child standing before me with honest-to-god tears in his eyes.
I remember the solitary nights, waiting, only for him to stagger in the door; the smell of vodka and other women pungent on his flesh. Remember my tearful pleas. Stay with me. The slamming of the door his answer.
I twist the thin gold band on my finger. Like everything else in this marriage, it’s fake.
“Do I regret marrying you?” I toss the ring; it lands on the divorce papers in front of him. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
Love the sustained bitterness and the escape at the end.
Thank you, David.
Very powerful.
Only tiny point: vodka doesn’t smell.
Thanks David. I was thinking more about how, if someone has been drinking all night, the smell of the alcohol sort of permeates through their skin. Economy of words didn’t allow for that though. I may need to change the type of liquor, though. Thank you!
Excellent all around. So much in a few words.
Thank you Toni!