By Day Two after The Departure, several things had happened. First, the dog was suddenly willing to spend more time indoors. My daughter, on the other hand, was suddenly unwilling to sleep in her own bed and moved into mine – so although the dog was sleeping better, I was not getting much sleep at all.

Also, we changed the locks.

I received several text messages and emails from The Departed, demanding a discussion about “practical matters” and insisting I buy him out of his share of the house, and I started to reach out to friends for attorney referrals. I started reaching out to friends just to say hi, missives that usually began, “Sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long …”

I met one friend for coffee a couple of nights after The Departure, and on my arrival at Starbucks, wearing clothes she’d seen before on a body that had gained at least ten pounds in the month before, she announced, “Oh My God – You look great!”

I was sleep-deprived and utterly baffled.

She went on.

“I’ve never seen you happy before.”

A few days later, I emailed another acquaintance, sending her some pictures I had promised long before, and explaining the delay: “We separated.”

She replied, “Oh no! How terribly sad and lonely for you!”

And then it hit me, less than a week after The Departure: It was the first time in seven years that I didn’t feel sad or lonely.

In the weeks that followed, friends I never knew I had rushed in to fill the vacuum that had previously defined my life – it always felt empty, but I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t seem to connect. I came up with a lot of reasons, of course, but was never able to solve the problem.

The cleaning lady came, and also insisted I had lost weight, or bought a new shirt, or something. I told her what had happened; I had to – she was surely going to notice the lack of laundry and sudden abundance of closet space* in the master bath. She hugged me and said, “Thank God. That was not a man. He did nothing but sit there. And he made you so sad.”

Another day, I had lunch with a lady from the DAR – an older lady who I don’t know very well, who wanted to thank me for some help I had provided.  I told her about The Departure, expecting to hear an offer to pray for me or perhaps a lecture on the sanctity of marriage. Instead, she said, “I was wondering about you ever since that night we were at your house when you were helping me. He came into the room a couple of times to talk to you, but he did not speak kindly to you. It didn’t seem right – it didn’t sit right with me.”

Everyone, it seemed, had a story to tell me or a thought to offer. I had thought that we were just like other people, and moreover appeared to be, because nobody can see what goes on behind closed doors, right?

And then, without warning, he left, and I was happy.

*Here’s something they don’t tell you in all those relationship books: single people have twice the closet space of married people. And it’s freaking awesome.

A funny thing happened the night He left: the dog slept downstairs. Not only that, he did it after spending the entire evening lying contentedly in the living room.

He did it again the next night, and the night after that.

I know this doesn’t sound like a detail worth noting, but this is not what my dog does. What my dog does is spend every evening whining and agitating to get outside. Sometimes he sleeps out in the yard until the wee hours. Sometimes he doesn’t like it outside, and whines to come back in, but then decides he doesn’t really like it inside, and spends the entire evening whining on one side of the door or the other.

Until the night He left, when the dog spent the evening lying contentedly in the living room.

To begin at the beginning, as one is supposed to do: I separated from my husband of seven years a few months ago. He left abruptly – to say the least – packing his bag right in front of me, my daughter, and my father.

We’d had conflicting schedules that day, which resulted in my father and I spending the day at my daughter’s concert with one set of my friends, and The One Who Should Have Gotten Away spending the day with his daughter at a candy-making class, with another set of my friends. When we all regrouped at home, there was  a short argument,  which went something like this:

Me: “How was your day.”

Him: “Fine.”

Me: “Was so-and-so at the thing? How was she?”

Him: “Fine”

(Repeat with several additional questions and one-word responses).

(Lengthy, frosty pause.)

Me: “Well, the concert went well. Thanks for asking.”

Him: “I did ask.”

And then he started packing.

I’d had conversations like this before, where he insisted he’d said something that I was sure he was not. Lots of them.

In fact, there was a period of time where we had them daily: I guess I’m old-school, but I think when people enter the house, the other occupants should say hello and ask quaint questions like, “How was your day and/or traffic?”

After you do this a few times, though, two things happen:

1. You stop attempting to have these conversations, because arguing is tiresome.
2. You start wondering if maybe it really is you, not hearing things that the other person insists so adamantly that they have said. I’ve seen Gaslight; I know how this works.

But on that night in October, as He packed his bag, I looked at my father, who shook his head: No, he didn’t say a word. I looked at my daughter: No, he didn’t say a word.

And then we three watched him go.