This book reflects my personal experience, recollections, and insights. Some names and characteristics were changed, some events have been compressed, and some dialogue recreated. Any errors are my own.
My parents, Ed and Phyllis Sarazin, and sister, Rachel, and brother-in-law, Brad Bowman.
My brother, Eric Sarazin, my lifes greatest teacher without ever speaking a word.
My tri-family, Kerry and Jason McConnell, and Regen and Andy Newton.
My people: You know who you are and how much you mean to me. You are golden, girls.
My Chicago girls+: Katie Beacham, Sarah Klein, Stacy Bennett, and Scott Bennett.
My friends Carrie Bristol, Nadine Fairbrother, Joanne Grafinger, Kara Brown Lee, Beth Piqueras, Susan Lerch, Alice Bayer, Spring White, Molly Sly, Chrissy Dukiet, Joey Napierkowski, Jamie Valvano, Lilly Whorton, Beth and Joel Holliday, Kevin and Tina Caul, Mary Anne and Dave Johnson, Tara Charvat and Craig Thiebaud, Matt and Mercedes Vedock, Kim and Ben Hartmere, Brent Varnell and Drew Cline. Special thanks to Robin Whitfield and Bubba for all youve taught me about the equal treasures of friendship, love, and grief.
For helping my mind, body, and soul: Karen Velasquez, Dr. Sophia Caudle, Dr. Hope Seidel, Nancy Greenlee, Elizabeth Ogren, Leeann Heinbaugh, Gerry Powell and the team at Rythmia, and my friends from the Omega Institute Writers Week. Oprah Winfrey for helping me wake up every Sunday. Amy Kline, a lantern of light who helped me to find my own.
For helping this book into the world: Soulbroken midwife and editor extraordinaire Nana K. Twumasi, as well as Kimberley Lew, Natalie Bautista, Alexandra Hernandez, and the rest of the talented team at Balance and Hachette Book Group.
My agent, Jim Levine; Courtney Paganelli, and the team at LGR Literary. Author and thought leader Denise Brosseau; my brilliant proposal editor, Genoveva Llosa; Adam Grant, for encouraging me to Think Again; Romi Neustadt, for reminding me to Get Over Your Damn Self; Julie Thompson, Bryan Wish, and the dedicated team at BW Missions.
My daily correspondent, lifeline, and dear friend, Peg Sullivan. Well played, God.
My manfriend, hiking partner, and first-reader Chris Jordan: Thank you for speaking my language; your spiritual partnership is among the greatest treasures in my life on the other side.
Taita Tito, who came to open my heart and did, and who remains there still.
Griff, whose love and loyalty over thirteen years have been an anchor.
My star, my daisy, and my arrow, who picked me up and hugged me tightly, who witnessed my grief more than anyone else and would ask Are you okay?
I am now.
This book is made possible by many, but none more than those who shared with me their stories of grief, hope, and healing. A deep bow of gratitude to you all, including Alison Coates, Eileen Flanigan, Jamie Livernois, Tameka Means, Beth Swanson and her beloved late mother, Judy Foley, Stephanie Pappanastassiou, and Stephanie Thornton, my soul sister and forever first phone call.
To those not listed, or whose names were changed: thank you for trusting me to share your story.
It was an ordinary Tuesday morning when I opened my husbands laptop; mine wasnt working, and I was desperate to print something. Seconds after that mundane act, my world dropped out from underneath me. I discovered that my husband of eighteen years, the father of my three children, and the man I had adored for more than twenty years was not the loyal and crazy-in-love-with-me man I believed him to be. Had my morning work call not been canceled, or had I opened his laptop a minute later, I would have missed the ping of the email notification that appeared in the corner of the screen. The message confirmed my husbands renewed subscription to an online dating website. Opening that single email revealed countless others; some shocked me with the use of affectionate pet names and order confirmations for romantic gifts that I had not received. Others confused me with details that contradicted my reality; travel confirmations revealed secret trips, and time stamps verified that my own proximity hadnt impacted planning. One after the next, each message stunned me with new facts and forced me to confront a devastating new truth. It was like being hurled into an amusement park fun house; you know, the kind where each room disorients youthe floorboards shake violently, walls shrink and expand unexpectedly, and mirrors distort your image in unimaginable ways. The twisted, electronic version I had unwillingly discovered was far less amusing and not at all fun. I desperately wanted out of the discombobulated reality that I had stumbled into, but click by click, the more I searched for an explanation, the more surreal the fun house became. The laptop of horrors continued to confess one horrific secret after another: he had been unfaithful for many years with many (many!) women. I was eviscerated by the sudden bend in reality; my marriage, my husband, my life werent what I thought they were. My body tingled and panic spread to every cell, in a deep knowing that something was very wrong, that I was not safe.