When I was in the hospital, my husband was shopping with another woman. Then he brought her home—and told me to thank her. I finally understood: she hadn't stolen my place. He had given it to her. So I moved up my departure, booked a one-way flight, and stopped asking him to choose me. He thought I'd always be waiting. By the time he realized I was gone, my last flight had taken off. This time, regret couldn't bring me back.
