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In the midst of those newborn months, I had a book coming out. It would be published when the baby was three months old. I usually described it as a book about drinking, though honestly it was a book about the only thing I ever wrote about: the great emptiness inside, the space I’d tried to fill wi…

Unless you say otherwise, people assume the end of a marriage involves an affair. So I am saying otherwise. This one did not. Just the mistake of two people believing they could make a life together, when in fact they couldn’t. Which is its own betrayal.

My parents’ marriage left me more allergi…

I came to hold both truths at once: I’d caused him deep and lasting harm, by leaving him. And also, I did not regret choosing a life that would not share a home with his anger.

When I say I held both truths, I mean that I lay with them, sleepless, in the dark.

A friend suggested that his anger was a sign of how much he’d loved me. As if love might curdle to anger with an equal but opposite intensity, like putting a negative sign in front of a very large number. But I knew that some version of this anger had been there the whole time.

One time in coupl…