Nearly two weeks ago the anniversary of my divorce came and went and I didn’t even notice. Perhaps that was the day that his email landed in my spam folder, perhaps that came later. Doesn’t matter. I won’t reply. He wrote to tell me that he’d hit a road block in his recovery and that I could help. By voluntarily repaying the dollars he’d laid out (during our marriage) toward my massage training. He said, that acknowledging his financial support of what he seems to have been the gateway to my “acting out,” is keeping him from healing. Poor soul! He can’t recover, but he’s maintained a three-year relationship with a curvy blonde do-gooder. He can’t recover, but he’s launched his third business venture. He can’t recover, but he spends every day on the pickle ball court, and eating lunches out with fellow men of leisure. Poor baby! I am so sorry that he suffers so at the hands of my evil past. I am so sorry that he feels entitled to restitution from supporting his wife’s dream of becoming a healer. (May it be known that I never allowed him on my table. I am so proud of myself for that, for keeping my work sacred, and safe, and protected against his criticism.) Poor poor Papa, who is so frozen in the past that he cannot move ahead. And I, I do not look back. Not ever. Not even the 30th of November.