|Wedding photos prove that nice people live here.|
Want to buy our home?
I will always remember this condo as the place where my marriage crumbled.
Unlike the sweet, dreamy stuff I wrote in the marketing book (like how we loved to have wine and appetizers on our balcony before walking to dinner in town), let me tell you the truth about our condo.
In early 2010, Max and I were newly married. We had a respectable amount in savings for the down payment and to buy grownup furniture that matched. We bought a little condo in a super swanky town (seriously, you would puke to know how much we paid for how little we got, but location is everything, right?). We had it painted before we moved in (yes, we PAID someone to paint for us!). We couldn’t believe what grownups we were. Freshly married homeowners, both 30 years old. We were really doing things right, weren’t we?
We moved in in spring 2010. The relationship problems we’d had for years followed us to the condo. I hate to admit it, but some small part of me was surprised. I kind of thought with our solid jobs, platinum bands on our left ring fingers, and a cute condo to live in, things would improve.
That autumn, right around the time of our first wedding anniversary (coincidence? I’ll never know), Max had fallen into a deep, dark, mysterious depression. It was terrifying and heart wrenching for me to witness, so I can’t begin to imagine what kind of hell he was in.
By spring 2011, Max had moved through his depression and was doing much better, so I was optimistic our relationship might finally get back on track. We decided to gut our repulsive kitchen and start over. Seriously, it was bad. Let me tell you, remodeling a kitchen is a huge pain in the ass, especially in a condo that is not even 1,000 square feet. But it came out just beautiful. We were so proud of it. I remember us cooking our first dinner in the new kitchen, and we even had a bottle of champagne and used our wedding crystal and china.
Little did we know that we would never use the china again.
Over the next year, our marriage steadily weakened, not that anyone could tell. In the living room and in the kitchen, we talked and explored and pontificated and fought about our problems. In the master bedroom, I cried myself to sleep more often than Max will ever know. In the guest room, he told me he was not attracted to me. (He wasn’t being mean; he was just stating what he didn't realize was a life-altering fact.) Three months later, in the living room, I told Max I’d talked to a divorce lawyer. And it was there that I saw him cry for the first time.
Tomorrow, during the open house, potential buyers will know none of the pain that has tormented Max and me over the past three years. They will see what we want them to see, including the beautiful wedding photos that still hang over the couch in our living room. (We left the photos up to make sure that no one thinks we’re getting divorced, and because we look like your stereotypical nice, normal couple who would’ve taken good care of their home.)
But how will I really remember our home? We made a lovely home when we couldn’t save a failing marriage.
I left that question blank.
Related reading: Divorced but Still Living Together; Depression in men – How To Recognize It and What To Do; How to Hire a Real Estate Agent in Divorce.