PART 1: I married very young, long before I understood what marriage actually demanded of a person beyond loyalty and routine. I was twenty years old when my daughter was born, and by twenty two I was holding my son in my arms, exhausted, hopeful, and convinced that love could be built simply by enduring long enough. My first husband, Gregory Whitman, and I had known each other since adolescence. We were raised in neighboring houses, educated at the same private schools, and quietly steered toward one another by families who believed compatibility was something inherited rather than discovered.
