But it was Anton who left me and I’d suppose you would say that it triggered that underlying wound of my father leaving me. It unleashed a wild, primal grief. He’d been indifferent and cold toward me throughout our marriage, occasionally throwing me an intoxicating little bone of affection. I was obsessed with really winning him over and mistook my hurt over the fact that he had one foot out the door for excitement. I bent over backward trying to make him stay, compromising myself more and more; I couldn’t bear another man walking out on me. I begged him to stay, but he didn’t even react, just looked the other way. I would have preferred being hit to his indifference. I’d never known shame like that. Or anger. I can still see his look of surprise when I slammed my fist into his face, breaking his nose. I clawed at his skin and pummeled him and pushed him down the stairs. Then I threw myself down them, too, breaking my collarbone and giving myself severe concussion. I told everyone I got a restraining order against him, so nobody would suspect that the actual story was rather different.

Nobody believed Anton’s version of events, especially after the book came out. We didn’t speak for years. But I’d go by his apartment sometimes at night and watch the shadows of his flickering television from across the street. I’d lie in bed and dream of him holding me, making love to me, hurting me even. I just wanted to be held, Kristina.

Then I got what I wanted. He came back last year. Because I’d lied about Anton being physically abusive, I couldn’t exactly tell you that I was seeing him again. I was in therapy then, of course, and I just couldn’t find a way to tell you. I’m still not quite sure why I lied to you about this, but I had fallen in love with the victim role and wanted you to feel sorry for me. And I guess it was hard to admit that I was so pathetic. I couldn’t tell you that the more therapy I had and the more I began to grasp the underlying patterns that led to my behavior, the more I lost interest in Anton. A man suddenly committed to staying was unfamiliar and uninteresting to someone as messed up as me. I began to seek thrills elsewhere. I began to sleep with men who were willing to act into the never-ending cycle of hurting me and leaving me – it’s what I know.

And now, it’s all over. So much is lost. I’m afraid of myself.