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[...] What used to feel like magic, like a shimmering gold of extended family and dreams come true, is gone, and instead I now essentially have five dependents and a husband I’m doing my best to avoid and yet still fuck approximately weekly so that he can’t point a clear finger at my negligence.

It is during my mother’s long exodus from our home that my new recurring dream begins. In this one, which I have nearly every night, almost every goddamn night for what will be the next three years, I confess my infidelity to my husband and we talk about all the experiences we have shared and all…

That day at the cabin, the embers of us still sparking in the skin across my lover’s veins, he’d exhaled smoke and said, “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” and we laughed because few things feel so good as to be beyond one’s control—because I’d spent my entire life believing that with pain came da…

[...] I remember the way he dropped to sleep in my arms, every single time we shared a bed, as though he had never had insomnia in his life. I remember how we used to laugh until our bodies convulsed, like the bad kids in the back of a classroom. I remember the way he could recite entire pages of F…

There is the Angry Man narrative, the Bad Mother narrative, even the Cheating Whore and They Were Never Compatible to Begin With narratives, but there is also this:

1) The time in our twenties, when I was claustrophobic while getting an MRI and my husband came and sat at a chair next to my feet …