Every morning I woke was another day he hadn’t taken from me.
People sometimes ask whether I regret going back into the burning house.
It’s a complicated question.
If I had known the truth, I would never have risked my life for Derek.
But I didn’t know.
I believed my husband was trapped.
So I acted according to who I was, not who he was.
I won’t be ashamed of that.
Derek’s betrayal belongs to him.
My choice belongs to me.
The night he packed his suitcase, I believed I was watching my marriage end because I was no longer beautiful enough for my husband.
I believed the fire had taken my face and then taken my marriage.
I was wrong.
The fire exposed a marriage that had already been poisoned by lies.
The scars didn’t make Derek leave.
They made it impossible for him to look at the woman who had survived his plan.
That difference saved me in ways surgery never could.
On the third anniversary of the fire, my parents came for dinner.
Dad brought wine.
