A Fourteen-year-old Mind in a Thirty-five-year-old Body

I was seven years sober, gazing at pleasure boats streaming down river on a warm spring afternoon, and furious that my live-in partner had confronted me with suspicions of a fling I'd had during her week's absence. Why, I thought, couldn't she just mind her own business? It had nothing to do with her. What's wrong with a short furlough now and then? I hadn't wanted her to find out; I certainly didn't want to hurt her. So live and let live, right?