I was under a lot of stress the last few days, and I did not state things exactly as I wished to when I saw the table you are painting.  I haven't checked my page lately, so I haven't seen if there was a response to my earlier status, but I wanted to write this beforehand to help clarify things.  You have always been a wonderful artist, and I wanted more than anything to be able to paint with you.  I wanted to make things with you, and when we had enough pieces, sell all the ones we wanted to at a show.  So yes, to see you producing painted furniture like we made together under a different name, it hurt.  I tried to convince you many times that you should paint more, and loved doing that with you.  That was my initial reaction, but there is more to it than that.  
Did you ever wonder if perhaps the Universe was trying to tell you something?
It seems you are enjoying using what I taught you, which I do recall voicing my belief that you would, whenever the subject arose.  I know I spoke about that topic quite a bit, especially when we met.  I look at pictures of you working on the furniture with me back in the day - the moon man vanity, the chest we build and painted together, and what I see is both serious artist and a woman enjoying herself.  In one conversation in one of our last few months together, I suggested that maybe you would be happier not working in your job. I would find a way to make enough for us to pay the bills and you could stay home and paint and play with Savannah.  It just seemed like a pleasant life to me, and I suggested it for that reason.
We were awesome together in our work.  We made some beautiful things.  Maybe the Universe agreed with me, and you are seeing it like I did.  Maybe things are happening for a reason, but not the reason you may have thought.  Maybe, just maybe, it is trying to show you part of the life you were meant to have.  With me.  Maybe listening to your husband every now and again wasn't a bad thing.  Maybe you could still have that life.  Maybe you were meant to paint furniture with me, and go to shows, travel, and have people tell you what an awesome artist you are, and pay out the ass for your work, while your husband handles the stressful/boring parts. Maybe you and your husband were meant to then use this money to go to some fantastic places, and take incredible pictures of our daughter, together. 
Just a thought.
I'm sorry if you thought I was pushing you around.  I was simply trying my best to try to inspire you - because I believed we could both be happy and make art at the same time.  I was that impressed by your talent, but at the heart of it all, I just wanted us to be happy.  There may have been times when I said things out of frustration and exhaustion, but for the last few years, all I've tried to do was be positive.  I know there were times I stated how things made me feel, but in my defense, I didn't want to be in those talks in the first place. I don't like saying anything negative about you.  I never have, and again, in my defense, you criticized me quite a bit, and I feel it was more than I ever put you down.  For my part, I am sorry if I affected you on the level you are saying, for I never held things against you, and never felt as strongly against you as you think.  From what I remember, anything I said negative was said either during an argument (which I never wanted to have) or during times of stress coupled with pain and frustration. I only ever wanted to build you up, and walk with you, and never to tear you down, honestly.  I wish we had talked about that more.  It's one of the things a counselor would have addressed, if only we had gone like I wanted, because I wanted to fix the problems, whatever they were, and was more than willing to do whatever was needed to fix things from my end.  I wish you had let me.
I still want to be with you.  I never wanted you to feel anything bad.  I think most of the problems we had, if not all of them, can be fixed. I really do.
In the meantime, I am glad to see your art. It, like you, is beautiful.

Forever,
Your Michael