I think I’ll sleep better this way, I captioned it.
I COULDN’T BRING MYSELF TO TOUCH THE COMFORTER.
I posted a picture I’d taken the previous day of the window at dusk, neon lights flickering outside, casting strange shadows across the water-stained ceiling.
Free entertainment.
I then shared a shot of a small patch of green pushing through a crack beneath the sink, stubborn and alive despite everything.
I have an indoor plant! 
My phone lit up constantly after that.
I SHARED A SHOT OF A SMALL PATCH OF GREEN PUSHING THROUGH A CRACK BENEATH THE SINK.
People were starting to take notice.
Questions from friends, coworkers, and people I hadn’t spoken to in years filled the comment sections.
“Are you okay?”
“Is this temporary?”
“Why are you there?”
“You don’t deserve this.”
PEOPLE WERE STARTING TO TAKE NOTICE.
I started to type out answers, but what would I say? That my husband chose his mother’s comfort over my dignity?
It stung too much to put down in words.
I still hadn’t heard a peep from Jake or Lorraine.
That soon changed.
I STARTED TO TYPE OUT ANSWERS, BUT WHAT WOULD I SAY?
Jake sent me a text late that night.
