When I moved to NH for my new job, I was in my 40’s, living alone for the first time in my life; no husband, no kids. My life, during the week, consisted of working full-time, cooking for myself, and doing what I wanted. I spent weekends back to NY or he came to me. The separation, allowing us to step away for a while, made it possible to put all things good into our time together. I knew exactly what my life was like, but I never asked him about his, probably because I didn’t want to know in case it spoiled mine. He spent a lot of money, something that made him feel good. When I don’t enjoy life, I eat lots of peanut butter and chocolate, so I knew he wasn’t in a good place. It didn’t matter, because I was. When he finally moved to NH, we continued our marriage, quickly forgetting how to appreciate each other’s company and arguing over the same recurring issues. I was still me, and he, he, so the only difference was more time spent together; time enough to return to old hurtful patterns, but not enough to solve them. Ridiculous.