I thought the hardest part would be saying goodbye to my mother-in-law after caring for her through her final year. I was wrong, because the real heartbreak was waiting for me at my own kitchen table.
Thirty-one years is a long time to believe in someone.
I’m Diane. I’m 56, and until recently, I would’ve told you my marriage to Michael was the steady kind. Not perfect, not fireworks, but built on something real.
We raised two children in a small blue house. We paid every mortgage bill together, argued over paint colors, and kept a photo of our wedding day on the hallway wall.
