. .No! I’m not going to think about those stories right now.I walk into the kitchen and open a beer. By the time my wife and kids return from a trip...to the zoo, I’m thoroughly drunk.“Go to your room, girls. I need to talk to your father.” Uh-oh. Whenever she refers to me as their ‘father,’ I know she’s mad.“Awe, come-on, babe,” I slur, trying to turn her mood around. “Why don’t we lock the door, and have a repeat of yesterday afternoon?”“Because you’re drunk,” she scolds me. “What happened to. It was one of her in her bikini taken last year when we visited Goa. I’d attached it to an email. Lori, beautiful and carefree, smiling widely for only me. God! She would have divorced me if she knew I’d sent a picture of her to some stranger on the internet. During our marriage, she had become a very private person, almost paranoid in her mistrust of strangers. But that is hardly surprising considering the work she did as a clinical psychologist that meant prison visits, her clients being the. More

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