gl-After I gave birth to our triplets, my husband filed for divorce. He called me a “scarecrow,” blamed me for ruining his image as a CEO, and started bragging about his affair with his secretary.

The light filtering through the floor to ceiling windows in our Mahatta house was not warm or welcoming, only a thin, unforgiving brightness that revealed every drifting dust mote and exhausted shadow on my face.

I hardly recognized the woman in the mirror, a hollowed, worn version of myself, like a stranger who had stepped into my life and borrowed my skin without asking permission.