The hospital rooms. The promises. The candles. The bedroom door.
But I don’t cry as much.
I watch my kids play in the yard. I touch the faint scar on my side. I remember the doctor saying, “Your kidney is doing beautifully.”
I didn’t just save his life.
He chose what kind of person he is.
I proved what kind of person I am.
He chose what kind of person he is.
If anyone asks me about karma, I don’t show them his mugshot.
I tell them this:
Karma is me walking away with my health, my kids, and my integrity intact.
I lost a husband and a sister.
Karma is him sitting in a courtroom explaining where all the money went.I lost a husband and a sister.
Turns out, I’m better off without both.
