There’s an element missing from the periodic table of our relationship. It was there when we started and it had a half-life longer than uranium, or so we thought. This missing link evaporated over time, like a puddle does during a hot July day in Florida, the kind we used to go to the beach, or go to Picnic Island and swim in the waters of the bay, or even just lay in our hammock between the canopy of dark green fingers stretching from protective oak trees on the front yard. But the fingers are broken now and it’s November. Fall is the best time for a divorce, don’t you think?