My grief was different. It was the grief of having loved someone who had been performing love in return. The grief of four years of shared history that had to be reexamined in the light of what I now knew. The grief of understanding that my home had not been as safe as I believed, and that someone I brought into it had been quietly suffering while I attributed her behavior to anxiety and eccentricity.I grieved the marriage.
I did not grieve Steven. There is a difference.
What Lucy Said About Silence, and What the Record Now Shows
Months later, Lucy and I were sitting on her new apartment balcony — a small one, overlooking a parking lot, not scenic, but private and hers.
She was doing better. Not recovered exactly — I’m not sure that word applies cleanly to what she went through — but better. More present. Less watchful.
