Our life goals had only diverged because I’d gotten tired of supporting him through all of his endeavors without being allowed to achieve anything for myself. Somewhere along the way, when I was cooking, cleaning, ironing, changing beds, changing diapers, working, doing the bills, cooking—oops, I said cooking twice—I had started to wonder when my life would begin. When I’d kick butt and take names. When I would be recognized for my merits instead of looked down upon for the untidy laundry room. I wanted more than this provincial life.
