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 and held my toes, one by one, each for one minute, to signal to me how much time was passing and how soon I would get out, and how at that moment, he seemed like the kindest person I had ever met, and I believed that no one could ever know me better or care for me as he did.