The sight of our house without my ex-husband’s belongings prompted enormous grief. It also put me on the road to rebuilding my life
It was the sock drawer that broke me. Left half-open and completely emptied, somehow it signified the final, irreversible death knell of my marriage, a hard stop in a meandering nightmare that had been going on for months. It shouldn’t have been a surprise – I’d been away travelling in China for a week, and I’d agreed with my husband that he would move his things out while I was away.
Somehow, though, I hadn’t properly prepared myself for the terrible emptiness of unclothed hangers, no coat on the hook and a bathroom devoid of any products but mine. Looking at the wooden tallboy my mum bought us for a wedding present, two of the drawers suddenly empty, it was the first tangible moment of realisation that it wasn’t just our marriage that was over, but the life we had created together and shared for 13 years.
