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Where were we? Oh yes, the train from Sanfran to New York. September 2008.
Sorry. That’s not the story I feel like telling at the moment. I’ll get there. But you know I like to tell it backward. So let’s skip forward. Ten years, give or take.
2018.
There’s a man everyone assumes I left my ex-husband for. That story makes sense: he and I worked together, long hours. We were both lawyers. We both liked to read and climb.
We went climbing together and everyone knows climbing is foreplay. Then we had a brief affair and smashed apart our respective marriages.
So: I left my husband for him.
That story makes sense, it’s the story everyone knows.
But it isn’t true. That man is not why I left my husband. He’s not why my marriage ended. My marriage ended way before him.
He was the end-stage final fracture: the straw on the back of the long-laden camel.
The truth? It was all because of Stevie Nicks. It was all her fault.
Let me explain.
