She was the stiffness in my neck, the tension in my spine—the 600-pound monkey on my back, dragging me down.
   She was the reason I rolled out of bed before dawn every day and the reason I hunted ‘til long after dark. (But then again, she was the reason I always came home.)
   Maybe it was habit, or hope, or just plain stupidity, but as bad as she was for me, I just couldn’t break free.
   Thinking back on it, maybe I should have read the signs better: the coldness of her touch, the distance, and the blame. Maybe then I could have gotten out. And maybe then the pool thing wouldn’t have happened.