Snooping.

The boys slept in at their dad's today and I went to his apartment to pick them up. There's never any parking so normally I just honk and they come down but today I took ex's spot and headed up. Nobody was packed or dressed or ready to go. I should have stood in the vestibule and waited. That's what any mentally healthy person would have done but I'm ill so I took the opportunity to have a look around. I think I was hoping for pictures of HER with HIM. Except for a sticky note with the library hours, the front of the refrigerator is bare. The counter next to it is devoted to drinking: a full bar with fancy tequila, gin, wine, vermouth, and other colored elixirs. I think it -- a home bar -- is the reason he left me but that might just be my alcoholic talking. Two dirty wine glasses by the sink. Lots of poetry books everywhere. Nothing on the walls. No plants. No pets. Closed curtains. Closed windows. Stale air. NOT my house. I don't belong here.
I feel guilty for snooping but it drives home the reality that he's moved on, literally. As we leave, the boys tell me about the trip to New York or Hawaii they'll be taking with dad and the gf. I didn't make them clean up the empty cookie wrappers on the living room floor.