What was meant to be a lifelong, passionate affair had shrunk into
a minuscule version of itself, slowly burning out at its core, leaving the
simmering ashes to become a cold powder. I never thought my years of
marriage were perfect. Whose are? But, I had held the firm belief that to
better one’s relationship, however flawed, you must look inside, not outside
I knew I was not the only woman who had had the safety of her world
destroyed, the structure of her life disjointed, the foundation of her union
blasted. Countless stories depicting evidence of marital crumbling are
readily available to the insecure voyeur like me, seeking reassurance in
futile comparisons. I wanted to share my story, not as a premise for revenge,
no; I wanted to unburden myself from the encompassing guilt that had
woven its way into my stomach. I needed to describe, in painful detail,
this unexpected life passage I had chosen to walk, its fine line sometimes
erased or redrawn, oblivious to the hurt and destruction that would ensue.
My desire to share was a function of survival, as I needed to finally
breathe properly, dilute the shame and access the universe’s forgiveness.
From the moment we decided to sell our house and cars, pack our
container and leave Montreal, I felt the urge and stamina to finally write.
Fate had interfered and injected multiple obstacles to stunt my initial efforts,
until the right subject had imposed itself on me.
What follows is the description of my journey into an unknown world,
a senseless world devoid of depth and purpose. A world where mistrust and
deceit seep their way into everyday life, guiding the twisted and misguiding