And I want it on record that I wanted it to be the good one. That was not complicated. There was no part of me, not one, that wanted anything else.
Fourteen months after a man walked out of my wedding night and took my grandmother's money with him, I stood in a kitchen hoping, with my whole chest, for a man I will not speak to again.
I think that is probably the end of it. Not forgiveness — I have not got there and I may not.
But I read that line and I said, out loud, to an empty flat:
"Oh, thank God."
And then I sat down on the floor, in a dressing gown, holding a piece of paper.
Which is almost exactly where I was at four in the morning on my wedding night, holding a different piece of paper.
A different floor. The same dressing gown. Almost the same hour.
