I had been married for ten years to my high school sweetheart when the itch to leave my wife started.
It’s not that she wasn’t sexy, smart, or attractive. I just felt the need to be single, free. We were both 35 and had been together since we were 16! We didn’t have kids, so I thought it would be easy. I honestly didn’t think “Alice” would mind. She hadn’t seemed happy in years and I know the promotion I got which moved us to France made her miserable. She wanted to be back in Texas with all our friends and family. Quite understandable. I felt she would start over, find another husband and have the family she always dreamt of, and that we could even remain friends. Man was I ever wrong.

I waited one weekend until we were walking through the Bois de Vincennes before I told her. It was one of her favorite places in Paris. I sat her down, took her hands in mine, and proceeded to tell her how I thought it’d be best that we split up. Her one simple question was: Why? The problem is I couldn’t really say exactly. I only knew that I didn’t want to be with her anymore, or to be tied down. We’d gotten together so young, yada yada yada.

I thought she was taking it pretty well and suddenly felt a rush of relief, that is, until she started running through the park and hailed a taxi home, leaving me behind. I let her go, deciding it would be better to give her some time alone. Three hours later by the time I got back home, all of my clothes were cut up. The Armani and Lanvin suits were bathing in bleach in the bathroom. My diesel jeans had iron prints on them. One of each of my pairs of shoes was missing. WTF? I thought, while looking around at the incredible unbelievable mess. Pages were missing from all of my favorite books. The new flat screen TV that I prized was on the floor, broken. So was my computer and laptop. The Tag Heuer watch she'd given me for my birthday was missing. Her wedding ring was on the kitchen counter with a knife stuck through it.

The next day she called me from the States and demanded that I UPS all her stuff back. I barked at her and called her a coward for destroying my things and running away like that. She said I had some nerve, but I actually felt like the victim in the situation. Months went by and I wanted us to somehow remain friends. However, every time I tried to cajole her but she hung up on me. I wasn’t surprised when I got the divorce papers. It was indeed over.

When I went back to Texas I tried to see her but I got the cold shoulder from her and her family as well. My own family is still angry with me and can't understand why I wanted to leave Alice. Nothing is the same. None of our old Texan friends will even return my calls and now I’ve lost touch with all of my past. I got what I wanted, my freedom, but the victory wasn’t as sweet as I thought it would be.

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