“Well, what would have done differently if you could go back to that moment knowing what you know now?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared out the window of my therapist’s office. It was a fair question, but I did not have a fair answer. I had begun to come to this office eight months before to work on challenges in our marriage, the thought always being that this was simply a rough patch and after putting in the work, we could come out on the other side stronger than ever. And yet, here I found myself in the same chair planning emotional steps to survive my divorce. How did we get here? And, as Dr. Collin’s question begged, what coulda, woulda, shoulda we done differently?

I closed my eyes, trying to go back to the beginning. The start of this fairy tale turned tragedy, the happily ever after - the wedding day. The plans leading up to it had taken a year and a half and a small fortune. It had seemed like a dream come true, but should she have known how it would end even then?

We had spent the night before the wedding apart, even though we lived together. We wanted it to be special, traditional, all of those butterfly feelings. I wanted to wake up feeling excited, blasting music and dancing to “Going to the Chapel”.

Instead, I woke up feeling alone. That wasn’t Mark’s fault, but I woke up feeling resentful of him all the same. In the moment, though, looking around the empty hotel room I felt abandoned and empty. My sister and the bridal party arrived soon after, champagne started flowing, hearing flying and feelings were smushed down. It would be good practice for the next eight years.

The distractions had worked though. I smiled and laughed, and the photos from before the ceremony exuded joy and happiness. Soon we found ourselves in the room to the side of the chapel, and one by one each of my closest friends exited to make their way down the aisle. My sister was the last to leave, squeezing my hand as she left. Alone in the room, my stomach filled with what I recognize now as dread, but told myself in the moment was excitement and nerves, emotion over my father not being there to walk me down the aisle.

If Dad had still been alive, would this have turned out differently? Would he have helped me to walk away sooner? Would I never have been so broken in the first place that my marriage crumbled around me? Maybe I would have known how to be happy. We will never know.

The doors opened, I saw Mark at the end of the aisle and my stomach sunk. For years, I would tell this story and say it leapt. The things we come up with the truth is too terrifying. Mark held my gaze, wiped away a tear. He said it was a tear of joy, but had he been lying to himself too?

In the years to come, the wedding would be talked about as a beautiful event, words like stunning and flawless used, women planning events asking me for recommendations. Mark and I had our challenges the moment we got home from the honeymoon, but what was one to expect coming down from such an occasion. Try as we might, we never lived up to the fairy tale ending.

I had never told anyone, not even Dr. Collins. The day Mark moved out, I found myself in the attic, in front of the trunk with our wedding mementos. My preserved dress was on the very top, and without thinking I stepped into it. It would no longer zip up all the way in the back, but the cap sleeves held it up all the same. I walked around the half empty house. I expected to feel empty and alone, the hollowness that had rung through the empty hotel room on that morning 8 years ago.

Dr. Collins repeated her question. A tear ran down my cheek, and I knew she was likely thinking that as I stared out the window, I was thinking back on all the regrets of my marriage, feeling broken and alone. But out the window, I could see the horizon. The sky stretching on seemingly forever. And knew that now, finally so did my future.