The night I left home I felt that I had been tricked or trapped into going - and not even by Mrs Winterson, but by the dark narrative of our life together.

Her fatalism was so powerful. She was her own black hole that pulled in all the light. She was made of dark matter and her force was invisible unseen except in its effects.

What would it have meant to be happy? What would it have meant if things had been bright, clear, good between us?

Author: Jeanette Winterson