There were two things that were on my kitchen table last night when I got home from work that weren't there when I left: your wedding ring and a note explaining that you were leaving me to go live in a trailer in Colorado with some douchebag you met in high school. Like the saying goes, "The heart wants what the heart wants." But what I wanted was a little more than my wife of four years sneaking out on me while I was at work. I can count on one hand the number of disagreements we had over the years, but you apparently had become so "miserable" your only recourse was to tiptoe out of our marriage like a seventh-grader dumping his date at the school dance. As I kissed you goodbye yesterday morning, and you told me you loved me as I walked out the door, little did I know that it would be the last time I got a face-to-face with you. I wish you the best, I really do. Although I hope that one day, up in Colorado, you realize exactly what you were to me, and what a fucking cowardly bullshit thing you did to your husband and, more important, your best friend.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.