My marriage to Nathan Holloway did not collapse in one dramatic moment. It had been taken apart slowly, one cruel piece at a time.

For five years, I became the quiet support system behind everything. I managed his moods, absorbed his mother Margaret’s endless passive-aggressive remarks, and, most importantly, paid for the comfortable life Nathan loved pretending he had earned on his own.

Crystal Cove Resort was supposed to be the final performance of me being the perfect wife. For six months, I planned every detail of that family vacation.