The Scrap Heap

I’ve written before about my family
their strength, their pain, their patience through everything that’s happened.
But what I haven’t really spoken about is my relationship at the time.
And today, that’s what I want to talk about.

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I used to think I had life figured out.
A fiancée, a plan, even kids’ names written in the notes app on my phone.
The kind of future that felt certain, like it was already waiting.
Everything I did came from wanting to be someone’s somebody.
A husband. A dad.

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Then came the knock at the door.
And from that moment, life split in two, the before, and the after.
Before, there was structure.
After, there was survival.

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I remember sentencing day like a photograph that won’t fade.
Looking into her eyes as I was led out of the dock - disbelief, shock, silence.
That was the moment forever stopped meaning forever.

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About five months into my sentence, she asked for a break.
Then came the quiet.
No fight. No anger. Just silence.
And maybe that was the kindest way it could’ve happened.

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I never got an explanation.
But I think I understand.
There’s baggage in most relationships but then there’s this kind of baggage.
It’s one thing to carry the weight yourself.
It’s another thing entirely to choose to carry it for someone else.

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I don’t blame her - honestly, I don’t.
It’s easier to walk away in silence than to stand still when the whole world’s shouting.
Maybe she thought her life would be easier without the noise.
And maybe she was right.
But the hardest part isn’t the leaving, it’s the not knowing.
Wondering if she stopped believing in me,
or just stopped believing she could survive loving me.

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There’s a quiet kind of pain that comes from understanding why someone walks away and still wishing they didn’t have to.

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I still think about what’s been lost.
Not money, not reputation, that all feels small.
What I miss are the quiet, ordinary things.
Sitting beside someone who knows you.
Arguing over what to eat.
Or maybe one day hearing a small voice call me “dad.”
Those are the things that fill my silence.

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The truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever have that.
Even now, I feel seen as the headline, not the human.
Who would want to take on the weight of someone like me?
And more importantly - would it even be fair to ask them to?

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I haven’t thought about dating since.
The white elephant always arrives first
sits down, makes itself comfortable,
and waits for the silence to fall.
How do you even begin to explain something like this without scaring someone off?
You don’t.
You just stop trying.

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The world doesn’t let people like me dream of normal things.
Not because of facts, but because of fear.
People still believe if you were convicted, it must be true.
It’s easier that way.
It saves everyone from questioning what happens when it isn’t.

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So I live quietly.
I work. I travel. I keep my head down.
I’ve learned some things you can rebuild and some you just carry.

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But I still wonder - when you’ve lost everything that once defined you,
how do you start believing you still deserve more?