Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940

by Anaïs Nin

This child, the little girl Maruca, who had worshipped her husband like a teacher, god, great musician, was now as firmly aware and unyielding as she had been indulgent. She believed nothing. She even returned to the past, added up all the facets of his behavior and decided he had never loved her. She slowly added and accumulated reckless remarks, selfish exclamations, thoughtless gestures, the expression on his face when she was ill, when he told his impeccable stories, his outlandish lies, and determined he had never loved her. Until now her own love had covered all the crevices, her own giving stopped all the fissures, her own faith healed all the wounds. But this small, secret, gentle life that had been nurtured on grievances for fifteen years now erupted like a volcano and nothing could prevent its devastation.