When you purchase an independently reviewed book through our site, we earn an affiliate commission.
By Joanna Rakoff
By Dana Spiotta
Eight years ago, I left my husband, which also meant leaving the newly renovated apartment we shared on Manhattan’s Lower East Side and setting up house in a dilapidated rental. In this unlovely flat, I found myself deliriously happy. For it belonged, solely, to me; and in it, I could be completely, utterly alone.
Source: Read Full Article