Peace. On paper.

I found something I never thought I'd find, or hear:

An apology from B.

Gobsmacked. Totally gobsmacked. I suppose, I never read any of this novel when he composed it, gave it to me - I've a feeling I tucked it away in this box, never to be seen, as I was so sure I didn't want to read the contents. Along with the anniversary card, beginning with an apology. For being Two Guys. I'm curious.

But.

I'm still not sure I wanted to read the contents.

He admitted to being two Bri's, the Evil one, and The One I Fell In Love With - how he didn't do the work to get better, to be with me, but he swore I was worth it, Fox was worth it, the dogs were worth it; getting "better" was paramount to him, his life, his love. Went on about his and Fox's day, how the dogs had gas, my gorgeous danes, that he tosses into this novel as an afterthought; how heartbreakingly sad it is that Foxy cried for me, as much as he did.

I don't know how to feel. Or if I feel. Anything. At all.

Years slipped by since this all came to pass, but I've it in writing, that it was his issues, not mine. That he knew I loved him, tried to help him. He rebuffed me. Among other things.

He was contrite, accepted the blame which belonged to him; apologized for things he's claims he doesn't recall, but knows on some level he did, he said, he inferred all these things that shredded what could have been with us.

I'm trying to recall that the important part to take away here?

He was sorry.

He apologized. For being overbearing, micromanaging, domineering.

I'm in shock. Can hardly focus, or breathe; I've waited for so long for him to apologize for being such a .....jerk.....for all the things he did, and said; who he became, because he didn't want to do the work, but blamed it on me.

I have this apology in my hand.

In writing.

I don't know what to do.

Or think.

Or feel.

Nothing, mostly. But kind of relived. In the kind of way that I was waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for this, the importance of it growing as each incident occurred, each nasty word spoken, I needed the apology more - and now that I have it?

I don't want it.

I don't believe it, even though I'm sure he meant it at the time. I don't believe he wanted to do the work properly, or that turing over a new leaf while turning the pages to a new calendar year was possible, that he truly thought I was worth it.

He proved I wasn't. Fox wasn't.

I wonder why it was so important to me to have it validated that it was his issues; I don't feel any better, so why have I continued to wait?

Maybe, so I can finally forgive myself, for allowing things to get to where they did, for how they turned out, for not being strong enough to demand a different outcome, a healthier outcome, for us all.

Finally forgive me, for not being able to save everyone, or anyone, even me.

If I forgive me though, then perhaps, I should forgive him, realize that when he wanted to try, yes, it was too late, but at least he'd finally wanted to try.

That I was important to him.

And more importantly, Fox was.

Sure, he's screwed up since then, but when that day comes, when Fox asks me again, why Daddy doesn't love him, why didn't he want to try, I can tell him, without lying, that Daddy did want to try, it was simply too late, for his dad and myself.

But maybe, just maybe, he'll still want to try for Fox.

Perhaps, if I'm lucky, Fox will find peace in a relationship with his dad, whereas I think I've discovered the piece that's eluded me for years:

Finding peace in our separation.

Our divorce.

Finding peace within me.