Betrayal has a way of hardening over time, turning 38 years of shared history into a cold, unrecognizable landscape. When my husband, Richard, sat me down at our kitchen table five years ago and confessed to an affair, the shock was total. He didn’t offer a name or a reason; he simply offered a divorce. He refused to fight for us, remaining bloodless and cruel as he allowed me to walk away with my anger and my dignity. For five years, I lived in the quiet aftermath of that explosion, rebuilding a life that didn’t feature him, fueled by a...
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