Annette and I were separated so she could "find herself." It wouldn't take long, she said, though the days seemed interminable to me. A week passed. Then another.

Fifteen days after she moved in with her brother's family, leaving me alone, she phoned to say she wanted to see other men. Nothing serious, she promised. But she could hardly "find herself" sitting home every night.
At the time, I believed any answer I gave would be the wrong one. And the wrong one, I knew, would destroy us. Twenty years later, I know the truth.

My answer didn't destroy our marriage. The question did.