Let Go

A short story I wrote last year about change and the emotions involved.

“You need to let me go.”

I didn’t bother opening my eyes to see who spoke. I knew that voice.

“No.”

She huffed, and I imagined her mouth in a delicate frown as a little line crinkled her forehead.

“This isn’t your decision to make, Quincy. You can’t stop it from happening, so why do you keep fighting it?”

“Because it’s kept you here for this long, hasn’t it?”

There was a bitterness in my voice that I knew she didn’t recognize. Her silence said more than a visual ever would. But what was the point concealing it now? She was the reason such an awful feeling had infected me to begin with. My tone may have dripped with venom, but she was the one who gave it to me, poisoning me slowly as I drowned in its embrace.

It took a few minutes before she spoke again, her melodic voice much softer than before.

“You and I both know that this isn’t healthy. You need to move on. We both do.”

Move on? Easy enough for her to say. She was the one who left me. Of course she wanted to move on.

“We were married for twenty years, so don’t make it sound so simple, Heather. Besides, I wasn’t the one who wanted things to end.”

Silence crept in again, and I didn’t bother trying to fill it. I was tired of being the one to speak. But as the minutes ticked by, a wave of fear rushed in as I worried she had already gone. Had she left me behind again? So soon? I didn’t dare open my eyes to check. If anything, I shut them tighter. But then her softness cut in again, soothing the fear, just as it fueled the anger. A contradiction just as great as my overall feelings towards her. Was it possible to hate someone just as you had loved them? Was it possible to hate someone because you loved them?

“I know, Quin… This isn’t easy for me either. You know that.”

Did I? Probably. Somewhere deep down, I think I knew. But it was a realization buried under layers of guilt, pain, grief, and betrayal. And I had to process all of those before I could find that understanding. Something I didn’t have in me right now. I was too tired.

So very tired.

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before leaving me, hm? Running from your responsibilities to me and your two children waiting back at home. What are they supposed to do without their mother? I can’t raise them on my own.”

“I fulfilled my duties to you, don’t you dare act as if I haven’t, Quincy Silverstein. Our kids are nearly grown as well. Soon, they’ll be out in the world living their own lives. They won’t need me anymore, then. You’re lucky I waited until now to leave. Some children never get the privilege of having a mother and father together at all in their youth.”

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. She probably didn’t appreciate it very much, but I wasn’t as in control of my temper as usual. The poison infecting me took a lot of my patience from me in its reign. Compassion, joy, and optimism, too. I guess it was running deeper than I thought. I didn’t used to be the person who laughed at other’s naivety or foolish statements. But then again, I also used to be a husband with a wife who loved me by my side. I guess a lot could change overnight.

“They’ll always need you, Heather. How can you not understand that? How can you be so okay with leaving everything behind? We built a life together. You, me, Sasha, and little Bennet. It was messy, but it was a family. Our family. And you left it. You broke it.”

I hated the way my voice trembled as I spoke. My eyes were moist, but I refused to let the tears fall. I couldn't let her see them. Even now. That was one of the promises I had made in our vows. I'd be a strong man. Stable and dependable, the pillar that carried my family. I'd never broken that vow. Not once. I carried every burden I could, supported my family through thick and thin, stayed steady in even the toughest adversities. But where had it gotten me? It wasn't enough.

I wasn't enough.

And it felt more taxing trying to be a pillar now that my other half wasn't supporting things alongside me. Unbalanced. Incomplete. Alone. She was leaving me alone. Twenty years of marriage, gone.

“Our family isn’t broken. They will still have you. You’ll be strong enough for the both of us. I know it.”

I shook my head, a shuddering breath leaving me as I forced the lump in my throat back down.

“I shouldn’t have to do things alone. I didn’t sign on for it. This wasn’t a part of the deal we made when we got married.”

I couldn’t do things alone. If I hadn’t been enough to keep my wife with me, how could I be enough for my children to grow and mature as they should? I was a pillar for my family, yes. But so was Heather. And without her, the balance shifted. It was too much for one soul. Too much to carry, with too little help in doing so.

A gentle laugh cut through my thoughts. It wasn't cruel, even though I knew the sound was at my expense. The melodic sound twinkled sweetly, with a twinge that said she saw something I didn’t. Though, perhaps that was true. My eyes still hadn't opened, after all.

“I think you’re forgetting one of the most important parts of our vows, Quin. You knew we’d part eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but that agreement was supposed to be fifty years down the line when we got old and gray together, living in a retirement home. We were supposed to die together. But instead you left me. You forced us to separate. Leaving behind our marriage, our home, our kids. All of it, and for what?”

“It was time. Time for us to end. I accepted that, why can’t you?”

Why? Why couldn't I accept this? Well, why did I have to be the one to let go in the first place? Why was I the only one still holding on? Why did I have to deal with the mess she left behind after leaving our marriage? Why did she get to move on without the burdens of guilt or shame while I was left with the remains of the life we built together? It wasn't fair. It was cruel! It was too much. Too much, too fast.

“Why is such a blanket statement good enough for you to be at peace with the decision you made? Why didn’t you fight harder for us? What could I have done differently? I know I wasn’t always the best husband, I know I worked too much and stressed about things that didn’t need to be fretted over, but I… I thought you loved me. I thought I was enough for you. I thought Man and Wife meant more to you. Why wasn’t it enough?”


“It was time.”

I hated that answer. I hated her apathy. I hated her selfishness and distance. I hated her. I hated her with every fiber of my being for abandoning me. So why…? Why couldn’t that hate drown out the love squeezing my heart until I couldn’t breathe? Why wasn’t it enough to make this easier? Why wasn’t it enough to make my thoughts say “Good riddance!” instead of “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

Maybe because I didn’t hate her at all, even though I wanted to. Maybe because I knew deep down that she was right every time she said those awful three words. It was time. It had been time for years now. This separation hadn’t been unexpected in the slightest. And yet, that provided me little comfort.

“The papers are all signed. You’ve handled all the legal changes and financial decisions. All that’s left is to say goodbye. Then, we’ll be gone from each other's lives forever.”

I knew that. It was all that I could think of when I had driven here to meet with her. I knew when I left, this would have to be it. For the sake of my life I had to start living on my own. And for that of our kids I was being forced to raise alone. The goodbyes said today would be final ones. Maybe that’s why my mouth wouldn’t utter the words. But, I had already stalled for too long. Once we parted ways today, it would be over for good. I couldn't stop that, no matter how hard I tried. So, maybe Heather was right. Maybe I really did need to let go. Not just so she could move on like she wanted to, but so I could too. She seemed to sense the change as I exhaled slowly through my mouth. I was a little calmer now, the anger, grief, and denial all smothering themselves so acceptance could creep in.

“Are you ready, now? To say the final farewell?”

The tears were trying to choke me again. I couldn't do this. I couldn't let go. I'd never see her again. My lip quivered, and my head throbbed from repressed tears. I wouldn't let them fall. It was the one thing I could control. It was the one thing I didn't have to let go of.

But my futile efforts to hold onto my pride didn’t change the fact that I did have to let go of her.

“No, I'm not ready. But I don’t think I ever will be. So I have to be ready now. You won't forgive me if I can’t let you move on. And as much as I resent you for doing this to me… I still want to see you happy.”

I heard her let out a relieved sigh, as if she had been holding her breath this whole time.

Her voice seemed lighter when she spoke again. I didn’t need to see her to know it was from a smile influencing her tone. I didn’t dare open my eyes, but I imagined her smile. Gentle, grateful, and warm like the sun itself. This was the last time I'd get to see it. It had to be. As Heather said, this wasn't healthy. And my kids weren't quite grown just yet. They still needed one of us, at least.

“I love you, Quincy. I hope you know that.”

I did. I knew that with every part of me, just as I loved every part of her. That only made this harder.

I needed to say something. Anything. All I'd done in this farewell was berate her. That couldn't be how things ended. Twenty years together meant so much more than that. But the lump in my throat wouldn't let me speak. The only way to get it out was to let the tears fall. It was the only way I'd regain enough control to say all that I wanted to. But I still tried to fight it. I didn’t want my weakness to be the last thing we shared.

“It doesn’t make you weak to cry, Quincy. It makes you strong enough to accept the pain and sorrow for what it is. Let it go.”

That was all it took. The water slipped down my cheeks as a quiet sob broke through. The headache ebbed, and the lump went down, simply making me queasy instead of mute. And yet even now, I couldn't choke out the words. There were too many of them to say, and not enough that could ever express all that I felt for her. She was my other half, and it was being ripped away. It was a special kind of pain I couldn't express. But I had to try. She deserved it. Our marriage deserved it, even as it was ending. Even as our vows had been fulfilled.

“I…Just- Don't… Don't forget me. Wherever you end up, know that I'll love you with every fiber of my being until the day I die. Don't forget that, please Heather. I… I wouldn't be able to bear it if you forgot me.”

“I won't forget. It was in our vows, after all. ‘I shall love you, my other half, until the realms themselves divide us-

“-and even after, I'll remember that love whether on this earth-”

“-or the next.”

That was our goodbye.

The silence was back. But this time, I was sure it was because she had left. It was over. We were over. And yet, just as I had asked my wife to keep the vows we shared, I would do the same. I would love her until the end of my days. Just as I was sure she had done the same.

I opened my eyes, finally taking in my surroundings, even as it left me hollow to do so.

Grass as green as emeralds, a sky as blue as her eyes, sunshine as warm as her presence, and a headstone freshly placed with neat writing on the front.


Heather M Sliverstein

Sep 6. 1983

June. 8. 2024
Beloved mother, wife, and teacher.
She shall be missed, and she shall
be loved.



She was gone. I had said my goodbyes. I had filled my conditions for our marriage. Love and support in sickness and health until death parts us. And I would fill our vows, too, loving her even after. But it didn't make this any easier. Loving and letting go was much harder than resenting and holding tightly. But I had to.

Because I wanted her to be happy, wherever she was now. So I had to let go. I had to let go of regret, grief, pain, and longing. I had to pick myself up and hope that when the day came for us to meet again, she wouldn't break her own promise. She'd remember me. She'd be waiting with a smile I missed dearly.

I had to trust that she'd still be mine in the next realm, even as I lost her in this one. Because that was the only thing giving me the strength I needed to walk away from her grave. That little bit of solace was the only thing that broke through the tears that wrecked me the second I got in the car and drove home. That bit of comfort was the only thing that pushed a smile onto my face as I greeted my two children at home alone.

And I was grateful for it. For now, I was both pillars. I was carrying the burdens of my grief and duties, as well as Heather’s own. After all, that's what I needed to be for my family. A promise I had never broken before.

A promise to be strong. To accept my pain and grief for what it was, and let it go when I needed to.

Author's Note

There's some changes to it since I originally wrote it on Google docs. So it might seem a little choppier here. Just wanted to share and get thoughts on it. The original vibe I was going for was a bit of a double meaning. I wanted it to come across like a separation or divorce he was grieving. Showing how similar the grieving of death is to the grieving of loss in other ways.