I had expected so much of this marriage. I had so many dreams for us. None of them had come true. I had been tricked, betrayed. My home and family—the place and people who should have been warm, nurturing, a comfort, a haven of love—had become a trap. And I couldn’t find the way out. Maybe, I kept telling myself, it will get better. After all, the problems are his fault. He’s an alcoholic. When he gets better, our marriage will get better. But, I was beginning to wonder. He had been sober and attending Alcoholics Anonymous for six months. He was getting better. I wasn’t.
