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In my early twenties, the first time I moved to the city, I worked as a temp in a Midtown office building, passing my days in a grim cubicle, on a floor without windows, running database searches on high-asset clients to make sure they didn’t have criminal records. At the holiday party I got sloppy…

By the time our daughter arrived, we’d already been in couples therapy for three years, all but the first year of our relationship. Once a week, we went to a basement office and sat together on a loveseat that never felt large enough. The harder our home life got, the more guilty I felt for wanting…

Four years in, it hurt to hold the things I loved about C alongside everything that had soured between us. But these things stubbornly remained: His wit. His loyalty. His belly laugh. His razor vision. One of my favorite things about being married to C was the company of his gaze. The things he not…

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…