It turns out there is no third way.
There is only one way. To end it.
So I did. Last night.
I tried to put on a brave face for book club but red eyes gave it away. I tried to brush it off and pretend it was ok, and that I didn’t need to talk about it, but sudden disappearances from the table said otherwise. I rejected offers of talking it through. I repelled proffered hugs and sympathy. I retreated into the bunker I’ve built for myself. I put on a front, and forced a smile.
There was no third way. There was only one way. And it hurts like hell.