he had been too busy to remove.
My name is Margaret. I was fifty-five years old that summer, and I had eleven children.
My youngest son was five months old.
I had given up my career, my ambitions, my independence, and much of my health to build the family my husband claimed he wanted more than anything in the world.
And that evening, while I stood outside listening to him humiliate me, I finally understood something.
My husband didn’t know who I was anymore.
Worse, he had convinced himself that
