The grief did not vanish; it simply moved aside to make room for something more useful.

I was not, it turned out, going to lie in this bed and weep for a marriage.

I was going to get up in the morning and protect my son and myself from a man who had already decided we were expendable.

Somewhere in the dark of that room, the wife I had been for eleven years quietly stepped aside, and someone steadier took her place.

I do not want to make that sound braver or cleaner than it was.