And I want to be honest about what that crying actually was, because people hear about a woman weeping in a bathroom and they picture grief, and grief is only about half of it.

The other half is humiliation.

It is the specific, hot, private shame of having hoped again when you had promised yourself in writing that you would not.

I had written it down.

There was a note on the back of an envelope in my bedside drawer, in my own handwriting, that said do not get your hopes up again, and I had got my hopes up again, and the note was still in the drawer four feet away being right about me.

So that is what the floor was.