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It had been a year since Hal moved out and three months since the divorce was finalized. There wasn't even another woman. I almost wished there had been, because then I could just believe that Hal was a dog. (We didn't have any kids, so I couldn't call him a deadbeat either.) Instead I felt like something was wrong with me. Therapy was helping me get over that, and I was moving on with my life, although I hadn't dated anyone yet.

Not dating wasn't totally my own decision. We lived in a small town, so we knew most of the same people, and I guess the men who knew us didn't want Hal to think they'd taken my side. I wished someone would come to see me, even a friend of a friend. Anything had to be better than month after month of nothing. I tried going to one of the clubs in the next town, but even there people knew us both, and he seemed to be friends with the bartenders, or the waitresses, or the boys in the band. When things go south in a place like this, everyone sees it happen.

I got the house, but my job barely paid the bills. One Wednesday morning, as I was pouring the coffee into my thermos to take to work, I noticed an unpleasant smell. As I got closer to the refrigerator, I could tell it was coming from there. I opened the door and was struck by the smell of bad food. Judging by the condition of some of the food, it must have gone out the day before. I hadn't noticed right away because I had stayed late that night to do payroll. I checked the Yellow Pages and found a place that could fix it, but not until the ...

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