“I’m not in-love with him any more,” a wife said sadly in my office this week.
She had been. Once, over a decade ago. Before the brutal murder of her husband’s younger sister. Before the years of tracking down the killer, the long, long trial, the life-sentence in prison. Before the birth of their own two children. Before Todd’s promotion at work that required 70-80 hours a week at the office. Once, a long, long time ago Carol had been in love with her husband.
When her sister-in-law’s life had been taken in an unimaginable way, Todd had changed. He became bitter, withdrawn, angry. “Who wouldn’t?” said Carol.
I certainly would have, I thought to myself.
