We were a happy family. Or rather, I had constructed a reality where we were a happy family, brick by fragile brick.
I am a graphic designer by trade, a sculptor of perceptions. I know how to use negative space to hide flaws, how to balance colors to create harmony where there is chaos. I suppose, in hindsight, I had been applying those same principles to my marriage.
My husband, Mark, was the Sales Manager at a burgeoning IT firm in downtown Seattle. He was a man of sharp suits and sharper smiles, the kind of person who could sell ice to a polar bear and make them thank him for the transaction. From the grey light of dawn until the heavy silence of midnight, he was consumed by the corporate machine. Yet, he always knew the right lines to say.
