I have had to sit with it with a woman called Odile Marchetti every Tuesday for eleven months, and the honest version is this.
After the sixth of April, not telling him became the easier thing, and then it became the normal thing, and then it became a decision I had made and was defending rather than a thing that had happened to me.
I told myself he had refused to come down. That is true. It is one refusal, on one afternoon, in the worst twelve weeks of that man's life, and I built five years on it.
I could have written a letter. I could have sent it recorded delivery. I could have told his mother.
I did none of it.
And three children have grown up to five without a father, and their father did not choose that, and I did.
What has happened since the seventeenth of September.
