ELEANOR SINCLAIR
We moved-myself and the dogs-to the Blackwood home, where I was forced to swallow a bitter truth.
I would never get my husband back. He became more distant and started to change after that. It was heartbreaking to watch him go even farther from me, to receive even less attention from him. His kisses became quick and hurried, and our lovemaking became so infrequent that I found myself driven towards the edge of madness.
But the c****x of everything would come the one evening I found a blood-stained shirt hidden in the laundry basket. It was hidden away, but I found it anyway, and my hands could not remain steady as I held it up, looking at the broken stain in horror.
It broke my heart to realise that I was too late. Too late to see him for who he was. To see that he
