“I’m married,” I argue, refusing to acknowledge that what she’s saying might be true. Not that it matters because the fact is, I am married, and while Camden and I used to be best friends, we’re not even acquaintances anymore. “I love my husband.” But as I say those words, a sadness creeps into my chest. Because while it’s true, I do love David—he’s the father of my son, and I’ve given him every part of me for the past six years—if I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I’ve been in love with him for quite some time. I keep holding out hope that he’s going to change, that we’re going to fix the
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