On May 3, 2008, I opened the inbox on my husband's Blackberry. I instantly knew he was having an affair. The first forty messages were from a woman I recognized as his colleague at his law firm, with whom he traveled. (Of course! So cliche. Not even original.) I'll call her Krispy. She was married, too.
Fast forward a few months: Krispy is pregnant (expecting in February -- you do the math); I filed for divorce. Now my 5-year-old daughter and I are on our own. I spent the summer in the fetal position, but I'm feeling (most days) like I'm back on my feet.
I miss the feeling of security I had when I was still married to an attorney, even though now I know that was a false sense of security. I miss it anyway, the way some Russians miss the Soviet Union, miss the illusion of being taken care of and feel nostalgia for a simpler time, even while acknowledging the oppression and loss of freedom that came with it. Actually, I now feel pretty shabby, having compared my situation to the real , often violent oppression of millions of people.
So, let me just say that I sometimes have nostalgia for a lie. Therein lies the comparison.
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