I didn’t want to ruin his day, or his life, but by the end of our marriage, all I had was that record. The very thing I wanted to obliterate was the only belonging I took from our marriage. Every physical object I took from our apartment, in fact, was in pursuit of writing: The desk where I wrote my internet articles for years. The green chair where I sat slumped over, looking at tweets. The guest bed where I’d sleep on nights we couldn’t get along, the internet my company for another night alone.
