The night my marriage finally shattered did not feel like an explosion. It felt like a quiet door clicking shut behind me while I stood on the front porch of the house I had lived in for eight years, holding a duffel bag in one hand and a purse in the other, the cold Denver air needling through the sleeves of my sweater.
The porch light cast a pale circle over the welcome mat I had bought on clearance at Target three autumns…