I dumped Jim as soon as my son started feeling better.
His angry “you are an ungrateful, mean, and worldly bitch” was weak and funny. I did not care. I packed my stuff and moved out. His manipulative “Vixen, all I wanted was to make love to you like people who care about one another do” did not touch me any longer. I was unable to continue changing my freedom for the mediocre penis, boats, and private jets. I am passionately in love with money, unless it is a package deal that includes the mandatory requirement to swallow disrespect and fake orgasms.
The day we broke up I walked the embankment. The freedom had the refreshing smell of the sea air and the orange and red colors of the sunset. Light head, empty stomach, and toned shoulders; I was thinking about the back-up plan in case I feel scared and powerless again. I did not want to ask Jim for help any longer.
Creaking sailboat masts, seagull cries, and wind howling. I was deeply inhaling my freedom. I sensed the chilliness of the afternoon with each cell of my body. I was hysterically crying and laughing at the same time. I was free.
I knew my fears to be unable to provide for myself and my son, to live in the streets again, and to die of hunger would hit me at night time. But it was still day time, the day time I was enjoying.