Prologue to NO MORE SECRETS

xi
Prologue
April 28, 1999
7:00 a.m.
I woke up, and was aware that I was not sleeping on my side of
our queen-sized bed. Before I had a chance to wonder if John had
left for work, I noticed him standing near the side of the bed. I
must have been sleeping very soundly and missed the sounds of
John’s shower running and the hair dryer blowing—the noises that
always roused me from a deep sleep. I glanced up, sleepily, and
thought to myself, “John, did you go to work?” He looked somber
and weak. It had been a rough few months; something was terribly
wrong.
Stress seemed to have overtaken him these past few weeks, and
I feared that all of the whirling in his mind, and the recent confusing
days, weeks and months in our home were now twisting my
mind, too.
Was I imagining the fear—the distant, unfamiliar look on his
face? Was he really looking down at me like a lost little boy? I didn’t
know what to do. He hadn’t been himself for many months. Why
was he looking at me in such a confused way?
Before I could even ask him another question, he said, “I tried
to kill myself.”