I feel completely hollowed out, as if the last fifteen years of my life were a movie I was just watching, a story written by a stranger who used my life as a prop to hide his own.

I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to my sons.

I don’t know how I’m ever going to look at my own life the same way again. But I do know one thing for certain: I am never going back to that house, and I am never looking at David again.