The papers on the table were real.

Everyone in that room had watched me come apart three years ago, and here was a loving husband, tearful, asking them to help save me from myself.

But I did not come apart.

I stood in the doorway with my keys still in my hand, and I found that I was not confused at all, that I had never in my life been clearer.

“I’m not confused,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than I had any right to expect.