My summer's fantasy provided desperately needed diversion from the extraordinary pressures of my waking life. I certainly did not have energy to devote to any sort of real dalliance, and needed time and privacy to heal from the multiple blows I had been dealt. And it was fun, falling asleep with amused anticipation of what might be unfolding in my dreams that night. It balanced waking up with sober dread of what might be unfolding in my life that day. It's still a little embarrassing, though.
Summer's over, thank god.
My younger daughter, happily enrolled in school with her friends, has calmed down, and my older daughter is home. We're almost unpacked. My life is on more solid ground. He was there for me when I needed him, did the dishes without being asked and never made eyes at other men. The tender gratitude I feel for this exemplary behavior is quite real, and it would be simply petty to keep carping on the fact that the affair was not.