And yet no married woman I knew was any better off, so I determined to carry on. After all, a person can be grandiose without being a clinical narcissist. And I was a control freak, a neat freak, a crazy person. A long time ago, in my twenties, I’d even spent ten days on a psych ward after a hospital-administered overdose of steroids for my autoimmune condition. John seemed awed by that hospitalization. He seemed to think it was cool, that I was a legitimately mad artist, touched with fire.

I decided to examine my rage, determine what I needed, and rely on John for no part of it. I imagined never needing to ask him for anything ever again.