He would be happier with her, I thought. He would be better off.
Always there, the silent witness to my marriage; a quiet presence to my pain. Hers was a face I knew as well as my own, though I’d never seen her. Hers was the voice in my head and in my heart, telling me I was never enough: never fun enough, never compassionate enough, never – her.
He should have married her, I’d think, and work harder to be everything she was and more.