Shortcomings

Shortcomings. The word banged around her head, beating itself like a drum. For the past half hour she replayed the word, tasted it on the back of her tongue, and if not for extreme self-discipline, the word would have escaped her lips a thousand times. Shortcomings. She was inadequate. Not good enough. He'd measured her spirit and after ten years he found her lacking.

She had walked in a circle and found herself outside their three bedroom home. Staring up at it, she wondered if her "shortcomings" had been so visible to him the day they chose this house. Or what about when she lost her job, and didn't find a new one for six months? Was that time period a part of her shortcomings? Was a spell of unemployment a part of her inadequacies? Muttering under her breath, she unlocked the front door, and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea. The fight was still fresh, her last words hung in the air and stunk, the smell stinging her eyes like peeled onions. "But I loved you." It hurt. The vulnerability of that phrase, the pleading, the begging to be loved. It embarrassed her, especially when she realized that that love was included in her shortcomings. Whatever she had to offer, it simply wasn't enough.

Sitting on the sofa, she weighed her options. The decision came down to two simple questions. One, could she repair her inadequacies? And two, most importantly, was she willing? If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, maybe she just needed someone else to behold her.

She walked to the bedroom and started packing. If someone can't see you after ten years, they won't be able to in twelve, fifteen or twenty. Overnight bag slung over her shoulder, she left a note that simply stated "my shortcomings and I will see you in court."