Two people were in it who hadn’t existed in my life a year earlier.
One was my son.
The other was my husband’s daughter.
I hadn’t chosen how either truth arrived.
But I could choose what happened afterward.
Adrian and I are still married.
That surprises some people.
Staying wasn’t the same as pretending nothing happened.
He broke something.
He also did the long, unglamorous work of helping repair it.
And I stopped confusing forgiveness with forgetting.
I remember exactly what he did.
So does he.
That is part of
