down the line. We have options. That’s all I’m saying. We don’t have to get a divorce. We don’t have to give up on this.” I sit down on the couch, fiddling with my hands as I think. Now that he says it, I realize what has made me so sad these past few weeks, what has plagued me and made me feel so terrible about myself. It isn’t rejection. And it isn’t heartbreak. It is defeat. I wasn't heartbroken when Don left me. I simply felt like my marriage had failed. And those are very different things. Evelyn said that just last week. And now I understand why it got under my skin. I have been reeling because I failed. Because I picked the wrong guy for me. Because I entered the wrong marriage. Because the truth is that at the age of thirty-five, I have yet to love someone enough to sacrifice for them. I’ve yet to open my heart enough to let someone in that much. Some marriages aren’t really that great. Some loves aren’t allencompassing. Sometimes you separate because you weren’t that good together to begin with. Sometimes divorce isn’t an earth-shattering loss. Sometimes it’s just two people waking up out of a fog. “T don’t think . . . I think you should go home to San Francisco,” I say to him finally. David comes and joins me on the couch. “And I think I should stay here,” I say. “And I don’t think a longdistance marriage is the right play. I think . . . I think divorce is the right play.” “Monique... .” “I’m sorry,” I say as he takes my hand. “I wish I didn’t feel that way. But I suspect, deep down, you think it, too. Because you didn’t come here and tell me how much you miss me. Or how hard it has been to live without me. You said you didn’t want to give up. And look, I don’t want to give up, either. I don’t want to fail at this. But that’s not actually a great reason to stay together. We should have reasons why we don’t want to