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It was mid-morning, a day off, and I was -- of course -- in the bath. I heard the doorbell and moments later mother's steps to the top of the stairs.
"There's a man at the door with a letter which he'll only give to you." That couldn't be good. I culled my mind for legal transgressions which might now be coming due. Wet and dripping, I wrapped my bathrobe around me and headed upstairs. Without preparation, my painted toes were the only sign of my aspiration to be female. I shrugged mentally. I doubted that he would care.
"Are you Michael Steel?" He was pleasant enough and the day outside pleasant enough as well. My name was informally written across the envelope. I took the envelope, said, "Thanks." and closed the door.
The envelope was unsealed. I dropped it on the dining room table and returned to my bath. Mother opened and read the contents.
I lay back in the tub. My chest burned. Fear? Anticipation? Dread? Everything was suddenly different. I knew that. I couldn't wash the ill that I was feeling from my body. I pulled the plug.
The letter was open on the table and I could see the legal seal on the upper left. I skimmed the letter knowing its contents. Words on paper. I had been served with divorce. We were over. I thought that I would be the one to take this step but somehow it felt better that the anquish and surprise be mine.
Divorce is an unavoidable step in my path and that of my ex. We had been growing apart over issues other than my gender dysporia but you forget those issues at moments like this. Spring sun beamed through the window of my bedroom as I lay down. I covered my eyes with a sweater left there from the night before. In the dark, I cried.
Every good moment of our marriage passed before me. Long forgotten moments returned. Colours, senses, smells, feelings, the finest of details about our time together. I sobbed releasing from deep within my chest the dread and sadness held there.
The last connection with a person I dearly love has been severed. I am a lone.
