Peter never loved me. I know that now. It took three months, four lawyers, and selling the house to see how little love he had for me. I still remember the first time he took me out to the Prudhomme Lake. To propose. He’d borrowed the Johnson’s cabin; had candles; wine, I had never had wine before; and we spent the evening listening to the water lap against the bank and he told me he wanted to marry me. But, now, as I think back I can’t recall him ever telling me he loved me. And when we were officially married, we only went to the court house and had a Justice of the Peace officiate. My sister Gerta was there as a witness, and Peter had no one. They used a Secretary that was on her break to stand in on his side. Four years of marriage, we used my credit to get that house on Raven Crescent, Christmases out of the country that I only found out after the divorce were paid off on credit cards he faked my signature on. It’s been twenty years since I’ve been back in Rupert, here. Eight years since I even spoke to Peter. You know, people move, kids take up your life. Peter met his wife, Cindy, whom the kids adore seemed to have gotten all Peter’s kinks worked out. They say people change, they say time forgives, maybe that’s so- I kinda just Blue Boxed it all and tried to move forward. I hate to say that because of Peter I reluctantly became a stronger, more aware person, but if it wasn't for Peter I may not have been as self aware, and wary, in as short of a time had I found some Prince Charming first off. Wherever Peter is now, I hope he’s doing alright… To Peter, Rest in Peace.