So there I sat in the coffee shop with my head on the table weeping. Marilyn hated me. I hated me. I thought of that razor blade and wished I hadn't thrown it away. I felt someone slide into the booth across from me, but I was too deep into my self-pity to bother looking up to see who it was.

The person didn't say anything, so I knew it wasn't Marilyn. Marilyn wouldn't have left me shaking with sobs. Ne would have slid in beside me and hugged me, then I could have lifted my tear ...