At My Daughter’s Wedding, My Husband Gave His Mistress My Seat and Told Me to Sit in the Back—Then the Groom’s Father Walked Past Him and Said, “Laura, I’ve Finally Found You”
At fifty-seven years old, I could manage medications for a stroke survivor from memory and still spend forty minutes deciding whether I preferred blue curtains or cream.
That is what chronic self-erasure does.
It makes preference feel selfish.
Buying my sewing machine frightened me more than filing for divorce.
That sounds ridiculous.
It is true.
Divorce had a crisis around it.
Lawyers.
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