For 24 years, I looked like a queen in a fairytale. Our life looked like a beautiful blood red apple, flawless from the outside, but something inside had already rotted. There was no evil villain in this story, and that was the hardest part—nothing was “wrong” enough to blame. When we had grown in different directions, needing different levels of depth, it became the survival of the self. And even though no prince was coming to wake me, I had to wake myself. If it doesn’t feel right, then it is not right