I wanted out. At least a walk in the fresh air would clear my head. I hadn’t slept. Leaving JJ and Jo in front of Saturday cartoons, I forced my husband to stay with them. He hated babysitting. With my mind tied in knots, my emotions dulled to depression, my feet drifted down to Fisherman’s Wharf, a site best known for happier times. Though crushed to the marrow of my being, I wanted to be crushed by the throngs. Christmas shoppers mobbed the Wharf, yet the coffee shops pretty much sat empty, so I took a table at a sidewalk café. Strange looks from passers-by made me realize I was crying. I had automatically wiped the tears from my cheeks without recognizing what the gesture meant. What did I care! Let them stare! Their spouses hadn’t confessed last night that they were in love with someone else! What did these gawkers know about pain and suffering? Their worlds hadn’t been exposed as farces! In the name of heaven, how could I compete? If his lover had been a woman, I could have hatched a plan, a scheme to win him back, but I couldn’t become a man. If that’s what he wanted, I could never satisfy him. Even if I had a plan, I’d already given him my best.