Another of our couple friends has fallen on the sword of divorce; releasing, relinquishing. My husband and I both come from broken and re-built homes. We feel, encroached upon, surrounded by the remains of what was our family lives. Step-, half-; our entire negotiation with family is by degree. Now, friendships have become places to draw lines, to choose affiliations. I have neither the heart, nor the stomach for the choice. Worse, my childhood self retreats. I care nothing about the parents, who squabble over lamps. I become absorbed, like some sick affliction, with the well being of their children: cooking for them, buying them socks, taking them to the movies. Again and again, I attempt to rewrite history. I have lost three friends, whom I loved, because 8 year old me could not forgive them. As my husband and I continue to work and fight for our marriage, beat the wolves at the door off with baseball bats and tasers, I begin to question my own motives. I know from experience that being trapped in a world of violence and hatred is no better than being trapped in a world of shaded relationships where grandchildren belong to no one. Children deserve peace and parents deserve happiness. Do I celebrate my own success with joy or sorrow?