Think about it, Nick, we know each other. Better than anyone in the world now.' It was true that I'd had this feeling too, in the past month, when I wasn't wishing Amy harm. It would come to me at strange moments - in the middle of the night, up to take a piss, or in the morning pouring a bowl of cereal - I'd detect a nib of admiration, and more than that, fondness for my wife, right in the middle of me, right in the gut. To know exactly what I wanted to hear in those notes, to woo me back to her, even to predict all my wrong moves ... the woman knew me cold. Better than anyone in the world, she knew me. All this time I'd thought we were strangers, and it turned out we knew each other intuitively, in our bones, in our blood. It was kind of romantic. Catastrophically romantic.