ACCIDENTALLY

BRAVE
BY
MADDIE CORMAN

DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
INC.
 ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE
Copyright © 2019, Maddie Corman

All Rights Reserved

ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United
States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union
(including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of
all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention, the Universal
Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all countries with which the United
States has reciprocal copyright relations. No part of this publication may be reproduced
in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise), or stored in any retrieval system in any way (electronic or mechanical)
without written permission of the publisher.

The English language stock and amateur stage performance rights in the United States,
its territories, possessions and Canada for ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE are controlled
exclusively by Dramatists Play Service, 440 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016.
No professional or nonprofessional performance of the Play may be given without
obtaining in advance the written permission of Dramatists Play Service and paying
the requisite fee.

All other rights, including without limitation motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public
reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, and the rights of
translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved.

Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to Creative Artists Agency,
405 Lexington Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, NY 10174. Attn: George Lane.

NOTE ON BILLING
Anyone receiving permission to produce ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE is required to give
credit to the Author as sole and exclusive Author of the Play on the title page of all
programs distributed in connection with performances of the Play and in all instances
in which the title of the Play appears, including printed or digital materials for
advertising, publicizing or otherwise exploiting the Play and/or a production thereof.
Please see your production license for font size and typeface requirements.

Be advised that there may be additional credits required in all programs and promotional
material. Such language will be listed under the “Additional Billing” section of
production licenses. It is the licensee’s responsibility to ensure any and all required
billing is included in the requisite places, per the terms of the license.

SPECIAL NOTE ON SONGS/RECORDINGS

Dramatists Play Service neither holds the rights to nor grants permission to use any
songs or recordings mentioned in the Play. Permission for performances of copyrighted
songs, arrangements or recordings mentioned in this Play is not included in our license
agreement. The permission of the copyright owner(s) must be obtained for any such use.
For any songs and/or recordings mentioned in the Play, other songs, arrangements, or
recordings may be substituted provided permission from the copyright owner(s) of such
songs, arrangements or recordings is obtained; or songs, arrangements or recordings in
the public domain may be substituted.

2
For my family…biological and chosen
The original Off-Broadway production of ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE
was produced by Daryl Roth at the DR2 Theatre, New York City,
opening on March 25, 2019. It was directed by Kristin Hanggi, the
set design was by Jo Winiarski, the lighting design was by Jamie
Roderick, the sound design was by Bart Fastbender, the projection
design was by Elaine J. McCarthy, the original music was by Claire
Wellin, and the production stage manager was Marjorie Ann Wood.
The play was performed by Maddie Corman.

4
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

I was struggling with my “author’s note” and I reached out to my

brilliant friend Richard who responded:
Oh dear. Author’s Note when the entire piece is a ninety-minute author’s
note? Why?
He’s correct of course. But I cannot help myself, so I will just say that
the thought of other actors performing ACCIDENTALLY BRAVE
is thrilling and terrifying and something I never dreamed of when I
was writing this. I wrote this play because I had to. I wasn’t (and I’m
still not) sure exactly why, but I knew that it needed to be written…
that this story needed to be told.
Early in the rehearsal process someone asked if I would have an
understudy and I just laughed. Then during the New York run
something happened. After every performance, multiple people of
varying ages, genders, and sizes would come over and hug me and
whisper “I AM you.” It became more and more clear that this story—
though deeply personal and seemingly unique—was not just “mine.”
The details are upsetting and bizarre and sometimes funny and
completely individual, but the feelings are apparently universal. So
it is with trepidation and delight that I let go of my story and trust
that you will honor my truth while blending in your own.
I truly meant for this piece to be something that heals and helps and
provides some kind of service. It comes from a place of deep pain
and unimaginable loneliness and a burning desire to shine a light on
the secrets that keep us sick and tell the stories that are scary to tell
and to remind one another of the grace that can sneak in when one’s
heart is cracked open.

—Maddie Corman
2019

5
 CHARACTER

MADDIE

PRODUCTION NOTES

In the New York production, projections of Maddie’s personal photos

and other contextual images were used, in addition to the projected
images and timelines you will see written into this script. Please know
that projections of any kind are in no way mandatory for your
production—the play works with as little as a single actor and a chair
onstage. But future productions are also encouraged to create their
own projection designs. If the actor playing Maddie is comfortable
using personal photos, the world around “Maddie” could be built out
of projections as it was in the original production.

6
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have
known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss,
and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have
an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that
fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving
concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
—Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
 ACCIDENTALLY
BRAVE
Lights up on Maddie. She is in a chair, cross-legged, eyes closed,
listening to a guided meditation on her iPhone. Music plays
along with a semi-soothing beautiful female voice. “Hello…
this is Persephone Abromovitz and today’s meditation is called
‘serenity first.’ Do you wake up full of fear of what will be and
regret for what has been?”
Maddie mumbles “yes,” eyes still closed.
“Let’s let that go for just a few moments. Let’s find the peace
within… Eyes closed, begin with a deep inhale and exhale.
Bring your left ear to your left shoulder and now your right
ear to your right shoulder, feet on the ground.”
Maddie puts her feet on the ground.
“Let it go… let it all go. Let go of all of the fear…breathing in
delight and exhaling compassion.”
Maddie picks her nose.
“You’re just breathing easily. There’s no effort… no right or
wrong.”
DING! Maddie gets a text—she looks around and glances at
her phone but quickly returns to meditating.
“If a thought comes in just recognize it and let it go and continue
to breathe without effort… without concern… without strain.”
DING! The text reads: “whatcha doin’?” Maddie takes her
phone and texts back: “meditating!” Maddie puts her phone on
her lap and goes back to meditating…
DING! The return text reads: “then stop looking at your phone!”

9
 Maddie puts her phone back on the table.
“Now just notice any sounds around you and feel the breath
as it enters your nose and as it leaves. You don’t need to
win…you don’t need to do it right…you just need to be here
and be now and breathe…”
Maddie tries to keep meditating but fails. She presses pause
on the app. She turns to us.

MADDIE. I suck at meditating. But even sucky meditation is better

than no meditation. For me.
She stands. To an audience member regarding her outfit…
And forgive me for not dressing up. This is my show. I wanted to be
comfortable. And… I get to be comfortable.
Beat.
Maybe for Act Two I’ll put on a ball gown. Kidding. There’s no Act
Two…
Maddie’s Wedding Day fills the space: Romantic music swells.
Laughing. Guests. Formal, fun, and full of joy.
Ohhhh that’s my wedding!
Maddie pulls out a New York Times.
Look we made the Vows section!
We come to an abrupt freeze on a projection of a wedding
photo with the groom’s face blacked out with a Sharpie.
Maddie looks at us.
Oops. Yeah. That was me. I had a moment.
The picture fades.
So that was my wedding and it was amazing. I married my best
person—my confidante and true blue love.
And he had a secret.
Now, every marriage has secrets, I guess. I had a few: the occasional
cigarette and the occasional Botox. Oh, and my secret Transcendental
Meditation mantra that you’re not allowed to tell anyone… And now
even I can’t remember it…

10
But my husband had a really big secret.
So yeah.
And before we begin this journey—oh my God, I hate the word
“journey”—okay before we begin this “thing,” I just want you to
know that I am not okay. This is not one of the shows where I talk
about how I was okay and then I wasn’t okay but now I am okay.
She readjusts.
The only way I have gotten through these past days, which turned
into weeks and now years, has been with other people being of service
by sharing their stories with me. And now I want to share mine with
you. And if a lot of people are annoyed or upset or just want the
salacious details, I’m kind of cool with that—because it’s my story
and I am not ashamed.
Okay…sometimes I am still ashamed.
She walks toward us.
I had a really nice-looking life. I had the nice house…
Projection: A nice home in Westchester. As Maddie lists her
life, images might appear to reflect what she is saying…
And the cool husband and three great, gorgeous, difficult, hilarious
children and a dog and a cat and a semi-great career and friends
and family. And I was secretly lonely a lot. And…and sometimes I
was on the book sale committee and also on the Broadway and
sometimes I was the tooth fairy and also on the television and my
husband was never not coaching the kids’ soccer teams and basket-
ball teams and and bringing food to the homeless and directing
and producing big fancy TV shows…
And we are all taking vacations to educationally sound but also
very comfortable spots and hosting birthday parties and holidays
and schlepping to school concerts and and and…then something
happened and my great big beautiful life came crashing down—
Suddenly, all of the pictures fall and slamming onto the
screen is a series of overlapping headlines: “Law & Order
Director Arrested for Posession of Child Porn”—Variety,
Deadline, New York Post, Westchester Journal News,

11
 People, USA Today.
My husband’s big dark secret.
The articles and headlines fade. Maddie sits in a chair like
she is driving a car.
Early, like crazy-early, like five a.m., I am driving to work. I’m
shooting a guest spot on a semi-terrible TV show and I have two
days, today and tomorrow, left of my filming. I’m going over my
lines in my head which are mostly, “Oh no, my son, is missing!”
and, “Oh thank God…you found my son!” I’m almost there, “there”
being a soundstage in Brooklyn, and my phone rings.
And it’s my daughter—which is weird because it’s summer and
way too early for her to be up.
“Sweetie?…”
“Mom, the police are here!! Mom, they’re taking Dad’s computer!
Mooooooom!!?”
And I can hear the boys are in her room with her and they’re crying
and she is screaming.
“What? Are you okay? What… Put Dad on.”
“Mom!!!!”
“Okay, okay… okay… hold on. Hold on. I can’t understand you. I’m
going to call Daddy and find out what’s going on…”
Maddie “hangs up” and “redials.”
“Babe? Hello…what is going on? Hello? What do you mean you
can’t talk? What??? The police are in—they want to talk to me?
Hello? Sir… You found what? Sir my kids are in the house. Sir,
someone need to get my kids…”
A series of phone calls.
“Baby…it’s Mommy… it’s okay… I promise… I don’t know… I’m
going to call my brother… hang on.”
“Hi. I know it’s early. I’m so sorry. Listen, I need you to go to my
house right now and get my kids and bring them to your place.
Please. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Thank you.”

12
“Dad…hi. I know it’s early. Yes it is an emergenc… They’re okay…
I’m okay… No I don’t think he’s okay… Can you go over to my
house? Can you take my husband to a lawyer? And then maybe
after that you can drive him to Brooklyn where I’m shooting so I
can figure out what the hell is going on and what I should do? Can
you—Thank you, Dad.”
“Hello… Hi, this is Maddie Corman…yes, I’m almost there! And
I’m just… I am having a…well… a well… a family emergency. No,
I’m coming to work. I’m just wondering if there’s any way that I
could shoot all of my scenes first and maybe be done before lunch?
Oh, that is amazing; thank you so much! Yes… I will see you in a
minute…”
“Hi, it’s Mommy… Yeah, I love you and I will be there soon and
your uncle is on his… oh, he’s there? Okay, great—go with him…
don’t worry…take care of your brothers okay? Tell them I will be
home as soon as I can… Yes, Daddy is going to be okay! I’m not
sure honey… Oh that’s Dad on the other line so…I have to go… I
love you.”
“What is happening? What is happening?… What is happening?”
And I go to work and I sit in the hair and makeup chair and I get
dressed and I say words and I do not have ANY memory of these
hours… I think I bum a cigarette from someone and then later, after
I wrap, I get into my car and drive around for a few minutes and
then on a street corner in Brooklyn somewhere near the set, I see
my husband across the street…
And I am looking at the man that I have been with for twenty years…
the man who is the father of my three children and my very best
friend who has a really bad temper but would not actually hurt a fly
and is the most stand-up, reliable guy I know… who listens to NPR
and makes silly puns and sings me songs at the piano and reads the
New Yorker and plans for our future and who doesn’t flirt with my
friends. He is pale and hunched over and I don’t recognize this
person… And I want it to be a big misunderstanding. A mistake.
Because how can this be? And he gets into my car and I look at
him…and he looks away

13
Is it true?
How old?
Did you ever touch anyone?
and I think I threw up and I think I punched him and I know I
stopped breathing… (Gasps.) Do I tell anyone? Maybe this will be
a secret and I can just quietly get divorced and… We drive in silence
and we go get the kids and they look so scared and I tell them, “It’s
all going to be okay,” and I do not recognize the voice coming out
of my mouth. In the middle of the night my stepmom has to come
over because I can’t stop shaking and I won’t let my husband near
me and very early the next morning I go back to Brooklyn and
somehow finish work and then I go straight to a courthouse and
meet my husband and then I am sitting in a diner with my husband
and his lawyers and they are eating—how can anyone eat right
now…and they are talking as if the world is not ending because
their world is not ending…and saying words like “plea bargain”
and “jail time” and those are not supposed to be my words and I
look down at my phone and and and it is…oh God… it’s every-
where…every newspaper—local and national—and every website
and every news channel… oh my God oh my God oh my God… I
look at my husband.
“It’s everywhere.”
My husband puts his head into his hands.
So the world and our community and our extended family all find
this out just moments after the kids and I found out.
I cannot tell you the exact details about what happened to him
then or the exact details of the charges or details about his childhood
or what’s happening with him right now—not because of legal
reasons—although there are those, but because that’s not my story
to tell. I know that it’s really tempting to ask and if I weren’t me I
would want to ask. You can ask—but you’ll have to ask him. I also
can’t tell you exactly how my kids have gotten through all of this
because that’s their story, or their stories, to tell. So if you want to
leave now I totally get it.

14
 She waits. Looks around. Any takers? Then continues.
What I can share—what I would like to share—is my own story; my
own messy truth, because maybe it will help someone whose life
got turned upside down when she least expected it. Or maybe I just
like to hear myself talk. It’s probably a combination of both.
It’s scary to tell this story… not for the reasons you might guess. It’s
scary because if I tell you the truth then you might not like me…
and I really really want you to like me. I saw my therapist in the
early days of this disaster…
Maddie lies down on a couch, as if talking to her therapist.
“…and another thing: I’m really worried that if I stay with my
husband, people won’t like me.”
“Oh Maddie, I assure you that there are already many people who
don’t like you.”
“Oh, no, no, no. That’s the thing… Everybody kinda likes me. There
are some folks that I don’t like, but even those people like me!”
And she smiles and she nods and I know that she thinks she is
correct but that she is not correct.
Of course, she is correct.
And of course I have to get quiet and take a breath and figure out
what I am thinking and feeling about this nightmare… But that
did not happen… at least not right away.
I also want to say that I didn’t have a terrible marriage. I was not
some Stepford suburban wife just fake-smiling and popping pills
and longing for someone to rescue me from my life. I liked a lot of
things about my life and I loved my husband—like soulmate kind
of love… And yeah, recently things have been feeling off. He feels
“off ”…distant irritable depressed… but I can certainly fix that
because I am VERY good at fixing other people’s problems which is
probably why everyone likes me… and if my husband would just
try this therapy this yoga this meditation this medication this old
religion this new music this perfect vacation then SURELY he will
feel much better…what? Am I trying these things? Sometimes… a
little, and besides I don’t have time to be doing all these things

15
because I am very busy making other people happy… and okay no
we haven’t felt “connected” these past few…um years. But he’s
working like crazy and we have three kids and that can be very
stressful and so okay, maybe we haven’t been super romantic these
days… But God, we started off strong! Twenty years ago after one
week of whirlwind dating I called my very best friend…
“Ohhhhh myyyyyy gooooood! I like him sooooo much and remember
when I said I WASN’T going to get serious right away… I totally
DID! And yes, I’m scared! He’s super sexy and really artsy and crazy
talented and successful! And he’s dated all of these phenomenal
women. I don’t know what he sees in me?! I’m definitely not the
prettiest or the smartest or the most talented or the best athlete or
cook or adventurer or poet or dishwasher…but I do make him
laugh and he makes my heart sing.”
A few months after that:
“We actually said it out loud. ‘I love you.’ EEEEEKKKKK!!! …Yes,
I’m scared (but he said it first). Oh and remember how I said I didn’t
know what he sees in me…you know what he said… He said he has
never met anyone with a heart as big as mine… I KNOW!!! And
what I do know is that my heart is totally and completely his and no
one could love him more.”
Three months after that:
“We’re moving in together! AHHHHH!!! Yes! Yes, I’m scared. But I
feel so safe with him… it’s like I totally and completely and finally
believe that I will be taken care of. It’s such an incredible relief after
all these years of taking care of myself! And everyone else!
Pause.
You know what? I’m not even scared…”
Projection: 24 HOURS AFTER THE ARREST.
If your life blows up, and you aren’t super famous but you are well-
known-ish…the press will show up at your house…on your front
porch. So, you send the kids to Nana’s, and you and your husband
who seems like a stranger and who you worry may kill himself if you
don’t kill him first, go to a friend’s empty summer place upstate…
And you want to put your head in the sand…into an oven…under
16
the water…any place but in the world. And if you have no idea
what to do next, or even how to take your next breath, then I highly
suggest inviting an Angel into your life.
A religious painting of an angel appears, accompanied by
beautiful choir-like “ahh”s.
I didn’t exactly invite this Angel… She just kind of showed up.
How do you describe magic? How do you paint an angel?
Maddie looks over her shoulder at the painting.
Well, I mean, okay fine…lots of people have painted angels and
described magic. But still…
When the story hit the papers, I was contacted by every person I’ve
ever met. That sounds nice—it isn’t—it wasn’t. Everyone wants to
talk…everyone has advice… it’s overwhelming and I don’t know
who to listen to. But somehow I had an invisible hand reach through
the haze and point me in the right direction.
Projection: 72 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
An old friend, who’s kind of like a big brother, texted or emailed or
something and he said, “THERE’S SOMEONE WHO IS TRYING
TO FIND YOU… SHE WANTS TO TALK AND I THINK THAT
YOU SHOULD…” and he mentions her name.
“Really? She wants to talk to me?”
You see, the person that he mentions is very amazing and very
famous, and…and I have never met her and we have almost no
friends in common…
So I text him:
“Why does she want to talk to ME???”
And he replies, “I think she has some experience, strength and
hope that maybe you could use right now”
So I’m getting ready to say “NO” but somehow my thumbs type “OK”
Alright, before we go any further: No, I’m not going to tell you who
she is. Let’s all take a few moments and speculate among ourselves…
We good? Ready to come back. Okay.

17
So I’m gonna call, but I don’t know if I can find my words…so I
text…
Projection: Maddie’s text is “typed” out as she speaks.
“Hi, this is Maddie Corman. Our friend gave me your number…
I’m a little hesitant to bother you but I am in so much pain and
shame and shock and confusion and sadness and rage and a little
more pain that I need all the help I can get… Thank you for offering
your wisdom and strength… I could use both! My kids are away
this weekend so I have lots of free time (which is actually not a
great thing right now!)…”
Wow, I can’t believe I was so polite and kind of insightful and a little
funny!
LESSON: Do NOT believe people are okay by the tone of texts. I
was a full-on wreck!
She writes back immediately.
The next text is “typed” out.
“Hey Maddie, I am so glad you texted, can you talk for a minute
right now?”
The reply “typed” out.
“YES walking with husband but I will let him walk alone—how
apropos!”
Again, check me out!?! That’s kind of a great text.
So I’m walking Charlie, our dog, because even when houses burn
down, or husbands get disgraced, dogs need to be walked…and my
phone rings with an unknown number. I pick up and there is this
raspy, kind, wise, caramel-spice voice saying, “Hi…”
I fall on the ground.
“Hi” is all I can manage, and she says, “Your kids are going to be
okay.”
And that is the kindest, most generous sentence I have ever heard.
And I believe her. And also I don’t believe her, and also I do… And
then she says,

18
“You’re going to be okay, and I think maybe even your husband is
going to be okay.”
And I exhale for the first time in seventy-three hours and I stay on
the ground and I listen as she tells me where to go next and who to
call and where my husband should go because that’s the thing
about this Angel—she doesn’t just spout magical truisms that make
you feel nice—she tells you the practical shit too.
So we talk on the phone and she shares a little bit of her own story…
which I argue is nowhere NEAR as bad as mine and she argues most
certainly IS… We say goodbye, and here’s what she texts:
On the screen:
“You’re doing great Maddie, you really are. You guys aren’t going to
believe it but your lives just took a great turn for the better and this
will be the best thing that’s ever happened to your family. No shit.”
So, this is when I think my Angel is a certified loon.
Beat.
Because all my other texts look like this:
The screen is flooded with texts that say things like: “OH
SHIT.” “OH MY GOD! This is a disaster!!” “Are you okay!?!
What is GOING ON!?!” “Thoughts and prayers during this
HORRIBLE time!” “I can’t imagine how awful this must be.”
“Call me!” “Call me!?!?” “CALL ME.”
She sends one more text that first day.
The other texts fade, as one is typed out: “LOTS OF LOVE
TO YOU BOTH.”
This was a small and incredible act of goodness.
You see, NO ONE’S asking about my husband, and those who do are
certainly not sending him “lots of love.” And I am not interested in
sending him lots of love, but the fact that this seemingly wonderful,
intelligent, successful human is gives me the first glimmer of hope
that maybe I could feel my own feelings—not have to feel all this
pain AND protect him.
This stranger became my overnight sister, and more, in those early
days.

19
 Projection: 94 HOURS AFTER.
I text her all through the night, and she is my first call when I wake
up in the morning.
“…It’s just not fair to the kids or to me… Oh, and I just got a fucking
audition from my agent! (Groans.) Really not psyched to sit in a
waiting room and make chit-chat. But I have to work, I think. My
husband just got fired from every job he was supposed to do for the
next year, and so we have NO INCOME. And this rehab he’s about
to go to is crazy expensive… Oh and I’m freeeezing but then I get
really really hot… And all of my friends are so mad at him. Okay…
I’ll stop. Sorry to bother you…sorry… I’m sorry…”
Maddie stands, becoming her Angel:
“Okay yes, your good friends will want to rip him apart, certain
parts off more quickly than others. Let them! Let them shoulder
some of the rage for you—good friends are wonderful that way and
you’ve got other things to worry about. And working is not one of
them! Hey… Remember when you had the kids and they told you
at the hospital: Don’t make any big decisions for at least twelve to
sixteen weeks? Don’t move, don’t cut your hair, do not get that butter-
fly tattoo! This is another one of those times. Stillness and self-care.
Self-care is THE MOST IMPORTANT thing right now. Not paying
the bills… It’s like they say on that airplane—you HAVE to put your
oxygen mask on first.”
Lights shift. Maddie is on the phone running around the
stage like a mad woman.
Projection: 106 HOURS AFTER.
“Guess what guess what guess what????? I just saw that he booked
his ticket to rehab first class!!!! AGHHHH. I mean the difference
is only a couple of dollars (because who wants to fly to Arizona in
August?!) but the very idea is maddening. Oh and also I can’t eat,
I have no appetite and… My daughter… Seeing my girl and my
boys so sad and confused, it feels like a giant hand is crushing my
chest… And all these people are looking at my life and discussing
it… it’s too much… it’s too much… it’s too much… I don’t know if
I can do this.”
Maddie becomes her Angel:

20
“You can and you will… And stop worrying what other people are
thinking or saying…fuck other people.”
Projection: ONE WEEK AFTER THE INCIDENT.
And then my husband is gone and I wish he would stay in rehab for
seven years…so I would know he’s okay but I wouldn’t have to deal.
I don’t know if I want him back in this house… I don’t understand
how… But I don’t have time to think about any of that because
there’s so much to do… It’s August and my boys are about to start
school… Middle school—oh my god MIDDLE SCHOOL—at the
tiny public school where everyone knows what just happened and
what if they get teased or…? Okay okay maybe I need to switch
their school…but would that change be even MORE traumatic for
them…and can we even afford private school? Ugh I don’t know…
I don’t know who to ask…
Beat.
Alexa, what is the proper sixth-grade option for twins whose father
was just publicly humiliated?
We hear Alexa: “Sorry I can’t answer that right now.”
Arghhhh!!! I cannot make any decision let alone a big giant decision
without first consulting my husband and polling forty-eight people…
but I’m not allowed to speak to my husband for the first two weeks
of rehab and the forty-eight people seem to be evenly divided. Half
say: You absolutely cannot move their school… And the other half
say: You absolutely HAVE to move them… And the new school
needs to know right now. What do I do? What do I do? What do I
do?… I’m…going to do it… I’m going to switch their school. So I
start making the hundreds of calls required to make this change
and suddenly my daughter needs her wisdom teeth out and I can’t
find the cat and the dog needs something but fuck him, he’s a dog,
and I have to take the garbage out which is supposed to be YOUR
job and the three kids need to be three different places at the exact
same time and I’m not sure which bills you paid before you went
to rehab and…
A phone rings.
“Hello?…
Hi! Yes the guys are super psyched for soccer season! What? Oh,
21
well, yes, of course he can’t coach the team anymore… What? Can
I get the new coach the rule book and the equipment? Of course I
can… It’s just… I don’t actually know where those things are and
I’m not actually allowed to speak to my husband for a… Oh can
you hold on?
Hello? Oh hi, how are… Oh, you have to remove him from his post
as Vice President of the Directors Guild of America… Yes I… Oh
can I pass that message along? Ummmm…well…hold on…
Hello? Hi… Oh you have to take our names off of the gala invita-
tion… Oh sure, I get it…yeah… Do I want to have my name on the
invitation alone? Um… I don’t know… I don’t know… I don’t know…
oh, that’s the lawyer. Hold on…
Hello? Did you talk to the district attorney? Okay and is she asking
for jail time? Okay…oh that’s my daughter… hold on please…
Hi sweetie? What? You need baby photos for a collage…that’s fun!
Oh shoot…honey those are on the hard drive…and the police took…
so… Oh love, I’m so sorry… Oh…that’s Daddy calling from… Yes I
will call you right back. I love you so much.
Hello?…”
The first time my husband calls from rehab, he sounds so…calm. I
have never heard him sound like this. I tell the kids, “Guys… I just
talked to Daddy and he sounds really good. He doesn’t even sound
like himself!”
One of the twins starts weeping. “Mommy, I don’t want Daddy to
be a different person.”
And I start having panic attacks that are a little bit debilitating. And
I lose ten pounds in six days… And… I take off my wedding ring
because I don’t even know what it means anymore.
Projection: TWO WEEKS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
We see flashing lights like a gameshow.
HEY, MADDIE CORMAN your husband is in rehab and you’re
about to turn the big FOUR-SIX and you have no plans and no
life… What’s next for you??

22
I’M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!!!
I did… I went to Disney World.
I do not like theme parks. I detest roller coasters. But I have a dear
friend who loves me and she and her husband fly my kids and me
to Orlando for my birthday. And it rained and it was cold but my
kids are happy and I am miserable. And my husband calls from
rehab but I don’t pick up because the caller ID says Pakistan. But
later, I listen to his voicemail…
Voiceover message from Husband: “Hey babe, it’s me. I just
wanted to say Happy Birthday to you. I’m going to try you
later today. Hopefully you are just working out or doing some-
thing fun…or getting a massage or on a nice walk… I just
really wanted to connect with you and say Happy Birthday
in person. Alright. I love you. Bye.”
Really?
Go fuck yourself!
I’m at Disney. I have to ride the scary rides with our kids because
you’re in sex-addict rehab! I have to field phone calls from your
manager and your producing partner while I’m at fucking Disney
and you know what I don’t want to do on my birthday?? I don’t
want to call back every single friend and family member asking me
to get right back to them and tell them what is REALLY going on
WHEN I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS REALLY GOING ON. So,
no, I am not on a nice walk or having a massage or working out (!?!)
and I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone and I miss you
and I love you and fuck you motherfucker!!!
Maddie “becomes” her Angel.
“Don’t be surprised when you want to rip his fingernails out over
small infractions as well. And yes, the retelling gets old quickly and
yes, a lot of people just want to get the scoop. That’s true. But a lot
don’t… A lot just want you to know that they love you and they
don’t judge. Take a pass for now, take a breath. Everything will be
more clear. Soon. After the kids get settled. Be fierce, Maddie. You
are doing great.”
I am not doing great nor am I being fierce. Well, maybe I am. It just
23
doesn’t look like Angelina Jolie in smoky eye and leather. It looks
like skinny, scared, heartbroken me getting up and sitting down
and popping an Atavan and saying a prayer and listening as my
Angel and my therapist go on and on about the wonders of Family
Week.
Let me tell you guys about “Family Week.” At rehab, the addict goes
for forty-five days, and during this one week, the family is invited
to join them… In my particular case, kids are not allowed… So I
have to go somewhere I don’t want to go to see someone I don’t
want to see? Fuck Family Week.
My Angel says, “You must.”
What!?! And leave my already super traumatized kids…and who’s
doing the planning of this whole thing? Who’s getting my plane
tickets and the child care and the dog walker? Oh, me! Because I
am handling everything!! And (Gasps.) Ohhhhhh! What if Family
Week is just the week where they blame the families for all the
shitty things the addicts have done…and no… I’m NOT missing
any of my boys’ first days at the new school! No No NO!
And then my sixteen-year-old daughter says, “Well… Didn’t you
make a vow to love Dad in sickness and in health?
Beat.
Dad’s sick.”
A long pause.
So I go to fucking family week.
Projection: FOUR WEEKS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
We see a sign that says “EXPECT A MIRACLE.”
“Expect a miracle”? Yeah, well, it’s a miracle I found my way to this
weird town in Arizona… See, when you’re the patient they pick
you up at the airport and when you’re the fucking family you have
to rent your own car and you cry when the nice young man from
Avis asks, “So what brings YOU to Arizona?!” and you drive to
fucking Wickenburg and buy a big bottle of Skinny Girl margarita
at the local market but then you have to pour it out because (who
knew?!) they make you sign a fucking no-alcohol contract at fucking
Family Week even though you are not a fucking addict!
24
And then I see my husband… and he is tan and glowing and his
eyes are clear and he is walking towards me and I don’t know
whether to hug him or punch him in the face… It is so weird when
the person who has always comforted you is suddenly the source
of your deepest pain.
And we meet the other families, and we eat food and we learn about
setting boundaries and we talk about news weather and sports in
between talking about the deepest, darkest most uncomfortable things
in the world. And there’s a dress code?! And we are encouraged to
dig deep and be intimate (which I thought I HAD been doing but
apparently…) and I learn that my husband has some more secrets…
Things that happened to him long before I met him and hearing
him share those secrets makes me really sad and also really angry
because—“I’m me and I shared everything with you and why wouldn’t
you trust me to be able to handle that…?” And we learn about
shame and abuse and I ask him why he couldn’t “just have an affair
like a normal person?!” And we do ropes courses and even though
we aren’t supposed to talk about the future I break the rules and I
tell him, “I will never ever be okay with the things that you chose to
look at…ever.” And we all wish that our partners could have been
struck by ANY one of the way cooler and more socially acceptable
compulsions and I am an excellent student and I do all of my home-
work and I read my impact letter—
Maddie reads from a letter:
For the past few years I started to feel less and less attractive to you as
you seemed less and less interested in me sexually—I asked you if you
were having an affair. I asked you if you thought I was not attractive…
You blamed exhaustion or stress… But I felt shame and sadness about
our romantic life and when we did make love it felt like you weren’t
really aware of me or what I was feeling at all… But I let it go because
you were such a good partner in so many other ways
She puts the letter away.
—and we learn about the limbic system and neuro pathways and
codependency and someone with PhD and a medical degree tells
us that porn can be as stimulating and as addictive as crystal meth
and we get folders with handouts about addiction and how it can

25
hijack the brain and make good people do some really shitty
things… And thus the addicts are considered sick people, not bad
people… And I start to believe that maybe there can be such a thing
as sex addiction because at first it really sounds like an excuse or a
joke…a very bad joke… But then some time around day three…I
get it… I do…for YOUR person…but not for my person…
It’s all incredibly difficult and also it’s kind of a relief…because I can
finally scream and sob and not even attempt to hold it together for
anyone. I mean who are these people here in the desert with their
broken hearts and their addict partners? I won’t ever see these people
again.
Little do I know, I will see them again…
And again…
And again.
Two of the women that I meet this week have become two of my
closest friends. My sisters from Oklahoma and Atlanta. We have
nothing in common. We have everything in common. I’m not gonna
lie—it really helps that all the ladies here at Family Week are ferocious
and beautiful and smart…and they are professors and moms and
entrepreneurs and models and bad shit still happened to them.
And I meet their broken husbands—doctors, generals, musicians,
rabbis, and they are not evil trolls…at all. And I start to feel some-
thing that I can’t quite put into words…but it is compassion, which
I cannot feel for my own partner…at least not yet. But I see these
decent human beings who have done some unspeakable things. I
bear witness to human frailty and deep remorse and I can easily see
the abused boy in these other men.
And that was a big thing…
It still is.
And then we meet with my husband’s addiction therapist and we
set some boundaries: “I am okay for you to come home after this…
but you will sleep in the guest room.” And my husband suggests
that the only computer he be allowed to use is the one in the family
room and that we install monitoring equipment.

26
And I start to feel almost hopeful…almost connected—which scares
the shit out of me.
So now it’s time for our “date,” which means we are allowed to go off
campus but not to be alone in my hotel room and no one is actually
looking but he follows the rules (which is shocking and annoying
and exciting) and so we go for a hike because what else is there to
do in Wickenburg, Arizona, when you’re not allowed to drink or
have sex…and it is hot and dusty…and here is what we saw—
We see a picture of a double rainbow over the desert.
A double rainbow. I’m serious. Look, I took that photo.
Remember there was that stupid sign on the way into rehab that
said “expect a miracle,” and here is a double freaking rainbow.
Now… I suspect that the rehab may have a very good projection
that they beam up… To give some hope to the desolate wives…but
still… I saw the double rainbow and it was divine. Fucking Family
Week saved me…and my family.
But then I come home…and he stays there.
He gets to howl at the moon and pray to a giant cactus and hike
the affirmation trail…while I have to deal with life in the suburbs
feeling all the eyes on me… And I don’t have time or space for
those eyes or the comments and I got A LOT of comments…and a
ton of questions.
Here are some of the WORST (or best, as the case may be):
Projection: “Frequently Asked Questions.” The following plays
out like a slideshow presentation.
1) DID YOU KNOW?
Uh, no. Not only did I not know… I REALLY did not know ANY-
THING… meaning I didn’t know my husband was watching
pornography at all…and yes, I DO feel like a fool.
2) DID HE EVER HAVE ANY CONTACT WITH UNDERAGE
GIRLS?
NO. No. No.

27
In fact let me be clear about something because the headlines and
the charges really made it sound like he made these videos… He
did not. He downloaded and he watched, which I am NOT saying
is okay, but just to be clear… He downloaded and he watched.
3) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT PORN?
Okay…so… In addition to not knowing that my husband was
watching porn, I did not (and do not) watch porn. I have been
known on a cold lonely night to curl up with a clip of The L Word
on YouTube. But that’s pretty much it. I am now very very very
aware of porn including the illegal kind and my heart BREAKS for
the victims. I can talk about porn now…and I do. With my kids
and with their teachers and with many an Uber driver… In my
humble opinion, if your kids have a phone or any of their friends
have one then you have to talk about porn because they’re seeing it
and they’re seeing it way too young and it can be really scary and
really exciting and really shameful. Oh, I know I’m not supposed to
tell my husband’s story but I will just say this: My husband was in
therapy FOR YEARS and he never mentioned that he was watching
pornography (and he was watching A LOT of pornography—most
of it NOT the illegal kind). Anyway—in my experience—it’s a
powerful drug and as opposed to cigarettes or pot or booze you can
get it for free and you can get it anonymously and you can get it on
your phone and you can get it when you’re ten. Okay, no more
preaching.
Oh and then there were the comments…so many people have so
much to say:
Maddie reacts to all the voices/opinions of people around her…
“When are you filing for divorce?”
“Do NOT get divorced.”
“You have to get divorced.”
“Here’s the name and number of my divorce lawyer.”
“Don’t make any decisions for six months…and after that I will pay
for your divorce.”
“My husband has had few hookers.”

28
“I have been having a long-time affair.”
“So he’s at Perv Camp?
“I hate having sex with my husband.”
“You should see what’s on my laptop!”
“I never liked your husband.”
“You look so skinny—divorce diet?!”
“You look so skinny—pilot season ready!”
“You look so skinny—I wish I could lose weight… Oh, it’s trauma?
Lucky you! I always gain weight when I’M stressed!”
“Have you thought about how hard it will be when the kids get
married and you have to explain to another family?”
No, I hadn’t thought about that…but now I will…
“I love your husband and I totally told that to my other friend who
was like—if it were me I would leave him in a SECOND!”
“My husband died which I think is way easier than what you’re going
through.”
“At least he didn’t die.”
“Do you worry that he will kill himself?”
Yes…
“He is NEVER allowed to hug my daughter again.”
“He’s disgusting…you must be so disgusted.”
“You KNOW he will NEVER work again.”
“He’s probably lying about so many things.”
“How are the kids?”
“How are the kids?”
“God, how are the kids?”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
29
“I can’t even imagine.”
Some people said and did some really nice things:
“Let me do your grocery shopping for you… I remember when my
mom killed herself I didn’t want to go to the market but kids need
to eat. Text me your list and I will do your shopping and leave the
bags by your front door.”
“Come to the salon and let me give you some highlights…my treat.”
“I’m coming over to teach you a yoga class. We do not need to
speak.”
“Here’s a ride for your kids so that you can fall on the floor for an
hour or so.”
“Here’s a plant so that you have something beautiful to look at.”
“Here are some really good sleeping pills that I had lying around.”
“I have felt deep pain too.”
“How can I be a friend to you?”
“I believe your kids will be okay.”
I tell everyone that I think my kids are okay. Everyone looks like they
don’t believe me but everyone (and I mean everyone) says the same
thing: “Kids are resilient!” My kids are “resilient” but they are also
hurt and confused…and they’re looking at me and my bare finger.
So I put my wedding band back on…for them…for the moment.
I take everyone to therapy. I bring one boy to a therapist who is old
and male and who I really like because he seems not completely
freaked out by our story.
Maddie sits, as if on a bench in a waiting room.
I sit in the waiting room while my sweet kind serene little guy is
having his first session and…he is sobbing so loudly that I can hear
him all the way in the waiting room. And in this moment I am the
angriest I have ever been. How can I ever forgive the man who
caused my boy such pain? I need to file for divorce right now… But
I pause and text my Angel.
Maddie “becomes” her Angel.

30
“How great that your boy can let his feelings out. And of course you
want to destroy the one who caused your cub this pain. And that
feeling, just like your dear boy’s feelings, will pass…feeling the pain
is the only way to heal.”
My tough too-cool-for-school boy also goes to therapy. After his
session, he tells me, “Mom, I had an epiphany: It is intense to love
someone and also be really mad at them. And even though Dad
screwed up our life, some of the changes might actually be good.”
Maddie takes this in.
Wow. That’s my son.
Then, he makes a terrible but truly hilarious joke about how Dad
really should be way more hip considering how much time he spent
on the internet.
Projection: SEVEN WEEKS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
In the middle of all this mishegas, my daughter is leaving for Italy
to study abroad for her junior year of high school, which is the
greatest thing in the world and has been in the works long before our
lives turned upside down. And there’s this big meeting in Boston
for all of these kids who are from all over the United States and I
want so badly for my girl to have the perfect send-off. It’s a big deal
to her that her dad won’t be here to say goodbye. And so…the night
before her flight, I’m putting the do-not-disturb sign on our hotel
room door. I notice a lovely family with a teenage girl coming
down the hall, I wave and put on my biggest sane person smile and
I say “Hiiiiiiii… Are you going to Italy tomorrow too???? So is my
daughter!!! Come here!!!! (Come here, come here.) Come say
hiiiiiiiii! (Come say hi.) What’s your name? Marcy?!?!? We love the
name Marcy!!!! Where are you guys from???? Colorado??? What’s
better than Colorado!!! Okay, well, we’ll see you tomorrow!!!” and
then as they are walking away and I am congratulating myself on
making a wonderful first impression and single-handedly creating
a lasting friendship for my daughter, she points out that the whole
time we have been talking to our new best pals, I’ve been holding
my book with the cover facing forward…and my book is:
We see a photo of a book cover featuring a giant splintered
heart and the words:

31
“MENDING A SHATTERED HEART (second edition): A Guide
for Partners of Sex Addicts.”
It’s a wonderful book… I highly recommend…so my daughter
points this out and we laughed…hard! And it felt good to know that
maybe we could still laugh even when no one was expecting us
to… It helps that my daughter is just really really funny! And then
my girl leaves for Italy…
Projection: FIFTY-TWO DAYS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
And then my husband comes home. And we are living under the
same roof…but we are different people… And the boys are in their
new school. They have a new soccer coach, and we have established
a new weird but working rhythm and it doesn’t include you. And
now here he is…home. And it’s odd and good and terrible and
scary. And we do put filters on all of our devices and the boys are
pissed because Fantasy Football is blocked. And my husband has
friends now that he calls and they call him. This is different! And he
is praying and he doesn’t curse anymore which is kind of lovely…
and kind of fucking annoying.
And now I am working and he is not…he is going to recovery things
and meeting with lawyers and going to therapy and we are having
a new kind of family meeting that we learned about at fucking
Family Week—where we don’t lecture or talk about chore charts or
who’s watched too much TV… We ask questions.
“Okay you guys… This week when did you feel: passion, guilt, joy,
pain, fear, love, shame anger?”
Maddie raises her hand.
“Oh I’ll go first! This week I felt fear and shame and pain when Dad
came and sat with me at the soccer game instead of coaching you
guys…and I felt love and joy and passion when we went for ice
cream after the game…”
And then each boy goes and then my husband goes…
And it’s kind of amazing and I’m pretty sure that I am going to win
some kind of parenting award… So for the next meeting, we Skype
in our daughter…

32
 Skype startup sounds.
…who says, “Ew… I have zero desire to hear about your guilt and
shame… I have homework to do and I have my own life and I don’t
want any part of these weird meetings.”
“Sweetie…this is an important part of our family’s healing…
Skype shutdown sounds.
…Hello?”
So we let her opt out of the family meetings…and I return my pretend
award. But we still talk about uncomfortable things and we ask the
boys if they have any questions about anything… They do. I hold my
breath.
“Dad…why did you do that when you have a beautiful wife at home?”
Sometimes we just listen to music or watch TV. Sometimes we
dance and sometimes we fight and sometimes I just need to lie
down and check out.
I want to feel better but I cannot do the things that used to make me
feel better. I can’t go to my yoga place because I live in a tiny suburb
and if I go to yoga I will get the look… the “shhhhhhh…I’m SOOO
sorry for you” look. Which I can’t stand… Or if I’m not getting that
look, I’m getting the “look away” because apparently now I make
people uncomfortable and that’s really shitty but I get it. I can’t go
to the theatre because I don’t know who I’ll run into there… So
mostly, I just stay at home…
Maddie “becomes” her Angel.
“Go out! Go take a walk at night. Go take those boys for pizza. Go
to a new friend’s house… look, even if it turns out to be horribly
uncomfortable, at least you will have made some memories.”
“Memories? I guess I could go to Italy?”
“YES!! This is what the world and all its angels have called for: you
and your girl together in Italy!! Go! Enjoy! Everyone else is fine.”
But…
“Everything else is fine.”

33
But…
“All is well, Maddie. All is well in this moment.”
Projection: THREE MONTHS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
I arrive full of jitters and big jet-lagged smiles and greetings for my
daughter’s host family who blessedly speak almost no English and
therefore I don’t feel the need to explain anything at all! “Buon-
giorno!” My girl and I make no specific plans… we just let ourselves
wander into piazzas and we go get gelato and we stumble upon the
most beautiful church… And they happen to be having a choral
concert. So we go in and we look up at the gold ceilings. Ohhhhhh!!!
Look! The voices are glorious and we hold hands and I look over to
my left and there’s…a sweet family: a mom, a dad, two boys, and a
girl. Just like mine. And I pretend that I am just moved to tears by
the music, which kind of I am… But my heart aches because I
wonder if we will ever be a family again…and if all those years had
even been real… That night, curled up in my daughter’s little bed,
I look over at my brave beautiful girl and she looks so grown up
and also just like the baby she was three minutes ago…and I say:
“Hey sweet girl…how are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine Mom. I love it here… It’s good that I’m here… How are
you?”
“Well… The boys are starting to love the new school and they’ve
made a few new friends and your dad is hanging in there and…”
“No Mom! How are YOU? …you look really skinny and you’re
kind of shaky and weird… I’m worried about YOU, Mom.”
Projection: 100 DAYS AFTER THE INCIDENT.
I need more help… So, I come home and I go to meetings. Not PTA
meetings…those meetings… I have a hard time listening to someone
complain about her unfair parking ticket when I’m wondering
whether my husband will be going to jail and… But I go to another
meeting mostly just so I can have a place to sit and cry for an hour
and at this meeting I hear someone sharing about deep pain and
deep fear and deep faith… And it’s the same woman who was
complaining about the unfair parking ticket. At these meetings
(which definitely aren’t helping me) they always say this prayer
34
which everyone seems to know by heart: God, grant me the serenity
(YES I want that!) to accept the things I cannot change… Okay that’s
where ya lose me! I cannot accept this because this is unacceptable.
This is NOT what my life was supposed to look like… also, I am not
like these people—mine is worse. Mine is different. No one will ever
understand mine… But I keep coming back because the people in
these rooms seem to have found some way to accept some pretty
horrendous things and they don’t seem like doormats or martyrs,
they don’t seem resentful, they seem strong and wise and even
maybe happy.
She raises her hand.
Hi… I’m Maddie…
A chorus of “Hi, Maddie”s.
…and I am pretty sure that I will never be happy again.
So now it’s Halloween time and I am at Stew Leonard’s because if
you live in Westchester it’s kind of a rule that you have to go there
for all of your Halloween needs… and I am pushing my giant cart
and I am almost not miserable because even if it doesn’t feel good
I will make it look good… I will make it cute and cozy and…oh
wait. Are we even allowed to have Halloween decorations…is that
a thing?
Maddie waves at another shopper and puts a smile on.
“Hiiii Katie! Leo’s getting SO big—I’m doing great I’m just not sure
I can legally have pumpkins…because of those pesky pending
child-porn charges that my husband is facing… you know how
THAT is…men am I right?! So I’m just gonna crouch down here
in the corner near the brie cheese and make a quick call while the
boys are looking at the singing bananas—great to see you! Book
fair next week!? Cannot wait!!”
Maddie calls her husband
“Hi, can we have decorations? For Halloween—Well, I think you
need to find out… Call the lawyers and I’ll hold”
Maddie stands in stunned silence. She sees her boys coming
towards her
Guys! Put that weird ghost thing down! Go check out the free samples

35
in the deli section—yes, you CAN get Spongebob mac and cheese…
Yep, the bad for you kind… I’ll be riiight there!
“Hi… Before you’re charged… so you’re saying these are probably
my last pumpkins? IF I stay married to you that is… okay, bye!”
I love pumpkins…
So… I buy twenty-seven pumpkins and make it look really really
good… It feels deeply not good. I am so worried that people won’t
come to our house…and some don’t.
We hear a doorbell.
But some do… so many do… parents and kids… and they come in
for cider and hug my husband and tell him that they still love him
and they do this in front of my boys…and I am humbled by these
people and their open hearts. And I wish I could let this be a nice
moment but the fact that these are probably my last pumpkins and
my last trick-or-treaters just feels like a staggering insurmountable
loss. So I excuse myself and go make a call…
Maddie calls her Angel.
“Hi… I can’t have pumpkins… this is unbearable.”
“I think this may go a wee bit deeper than pumpkins, my dear
one… You’re mourning something Maddie…it’s the loss of the way
things were. That’s a big one. Hey, have you ever lost anyone…have
you ever mourned before?”
Ummmmm???? YES.
Pictures of “Maddie’s mother” are projected.
That’s my mom.
I know a little bit about mourning. When I was sixteen and my
little brother was eleven, our forty-seven-year-old mother died of
cancer… And yes, you’re doing the math correctly. In a cruel twist
of fate, or irony, or just general suckassiness, when my girl is sixteen
and my boys are eleven…and I am—you guessed it—well, one
year younger—that’s when our world collapsed. So that’s not great.
The thing about grief is…it isn’t finite. Right after my mom died,
they took me to this social worker and she taught me about the
five stages of grief and I inferred that I would get to the last stage

36
and be done! Maybe get a lollipop or something… So I tried really
hard to be done after a year—maybe two—because it seemed like
my sadness was too much and it made other people uncomfort-
able. So I tried really hard to be over it or at least look like I was
over it…which lead to all kinds of wonderful secret dysfunction.
You see… The loss of something…of someone so great does not have
a beginning or a middle or an end and I am still not “over it”…
Which is not to say that I have been in white hot excruciating pain
for the past thirty years… It’s just that sometimes a grief that has
been dancing quietly in the corner comes back into the spotlight—
graduations, weddings… for me the birth of my three kids have
been times when I really missed my mom… But now I can’t
breathe… I can’t see and I miss my mother as I haven’t in decades…
never have I needed that mother love more. She is the one I want to
talk to and cry with and I really need her to hold on to me and
maybe sing me one of her songs.
So yes, my Angel. I have felt deep grief.
Do I really have to feel it again?
Projection: 4 MONTHS AFTER.
Now, it’s Thanksgiving, the grandparents suit up and show up and
take my kids on a trip. And for the first time since everything
exploded, I can do whatever I want and see whomever I want…
and weirdly all I want to do is be with my husband. And I look at
him and I see him again. I see the man that I fell in love with but
better…a newer, more humble, more spiritual version of that guy.
“Hi… Do you want to come back…into our room?”
Some mornings are filled with love and a deep connectedness that
I haven’t felt in years or maybe in ever. And we cook together and
we eat together…
Phone rings.
Oh that’s your lawyer…why is she calling me??
…Hello? …Oh god. Okay. When? Okay…goodbye… She wants
me to write a letter to the judge explaining why (if you don’t go to
jail) you should be allowed to live with our kids…
We go to sleep that night and in the middle of the night, I wake
37
up in a rage and it’s big and fiery and sure of itself. And I wake
him up with my fists. “How could YOU DO THIS? WHAT IS
WRONG WITH YOU? WHO ARE YOU?? YOU PUT YOUR
KIDS… MY kids AT RISK FOR YOUR STUPID DISGUSTING
ADDICTION???? YOU’RE AN IDIOT…but you’re not an idiot
which makes you A MONSTER… I hate you more than I have
ever hated anyone… I will NEVER stop feeling this! I
SHOULDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS!!! IT IS NOT
FAIR!!!!!!! YOU PROMISED TO TAKE CARE OF ME!!! YOU
PROMISED YOU WOULD NEVER HURT ME… YOU’RE A
LIAR!!!! YOU PROMISED!!!”
I get out of bed and I lock myself in the bathroom and I throw
myself on the tile floor and I make sounds that don’t even sound
human.
She does.
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know me like this. I am mean and
bitter and vindictive and hopeless. I just said things that felt SO
good to say in the moment but now it eats away at me… I hate
when I lash out and use my words like weapons and don’t take any
accountability.
I just want to smoke this pain away or eat it away or watch really
shitty Housewives of Anything Anywhere!… Just when I think this
pain will swallow me whole, here is what my Angel says:
Maddie “becomes” her Angel.
“I am sorry for your pain, Maddie. It hurts, it really really hurts. I get
it. I do… I too was at one time curled on my bathroom floor making
noises that were otherworldly and I didn’t think I would ever again
know free endless joy…but I would. And I would never again fear
that pain, not because I would not know it, but because I would
exactly know it and know that it will pass…because I have lived
through deep pain passing.”
Fuck pain passing. I want to leave…really.
Maddie pulls out a suitcase and begins methodically packing
her bag.
I’m going to pack my bags and take MY kids and run away from

38
the pain because this will never be over. This will never be okay…
but my kids love their dad (and so do I) and they need their dad
(and so do…no, I don’t!) I don’t I don’t I…
Maddie falls to the floor.
it hurts so much…
She clasps hands in prayer.
God… I don’t know what to do… I can’t figure this out with my
brain and my heart feels fuzzy and unreliable as well… Can You
take this…just for a minute, please?
I don’t sleep at all that night. The next morning, my husband comes
to me and he says, “I think I know what I did to you.
It’s like I ran you over with a cement truck. You’re lying on the
ground bloody and badly hurt and then I back up and run you over
a second time and then I get out of the truck and call the ambulance
and when the ambulance finally shows up, I get in and drive away,
leaving you there on the ground.”
It’s the first time I feel like he “gets” the scope of the betrayal… I
hadn’t realized how much I wanted/I needed him to get it…and
this is the beginning of us being able to heal…
But I don’t know… I don’t know what’s next here… So I get really
close with God, because I have no other choice. There is simply no
way to process all of this by myself or with another human being.
So I start looking for God in churches and temples and gurus until
a beautiful friend says, “Hey, Maddie! You don’t have to work so
hard… If you just stand still, God will find you.”
And She does. Sometimes on the subway or on a walk with my dog
or sometimes at an ATM.
I feel a little stronger… I am wearing my ring but it doesn’t feel
right so I take it off but that doesn’t feel right either… I don’t want
my old marriage back but I’m not ready to walk away from this
family…
But… I really want a new ring. Maybe one that says, “I’m not
promising to stay. But I’m not leaving yet.” I don’t know what I
want…but I’ll know it when I see it.

39
So, I invite my husband to come with me to SoHo. He is pretty jazzed
since I haven’t invited him anywhere in a very long time. So we go…
We look in the cool stores and we look in the not so cool stores and I
cannot find anything—I can’t find a ring that I like or that we can
afford or that fits…and then I notice a guy on the sidewalk with a
table full of colorful cheap rings…and they’re all just okay and I am
about to walk away and he asks, “What are you looking for?”
“I want a ring…something beautiful and delicate but strong and
unique.”
“Oh…hold on!”
And he reaches under the table into a secret cubby and pulls out
this ring with a scarlet stone…and it’s stunning and perfect and it
fits and I have freakishly tiny fingers and no ring has ever just fit
and it’s $50!?! And so now my husband is ecstatic and he goes to
pay for the perfect ring, and I say “No…hold on” and I get out my
own money.
“I got this.”
PROJECTION: 5 MONTHS AFTER
Did your husband ever get arrested and then you moved to Harlem?
Samesies!!!
In order to pay for the lawyers and the rehab and the therapy for
all of us, we have to sell our house…the only home my kids have
ever known. Somehow a friend helps me to find a new home on a
beautiful block in Harlem.
And so now I’m packing up a house and moving and working and
mothering…and looking at the door where I measured my kids’
heights for the past fifteen years. And now it is time for my husband
to be sentenced, I’m terrified. I’m scared the press will be there and
we will be in the news again. I say “we,” because now when I google
myself, my husband’s mugshot pops up. I just am not sure how to
not wear my partner’s shame.
Maddie “becomes” her Angel.
“Forget the press, Maddie, totally. EVERYBODY else does. It’s loud
and scary for that week, don’t read it. Don’t pay attention. It ALL

40
becomes yesterday’s news and no one cares, no one remembers.
AND besides, the exchange of all the gifts and growth and honesty
that you all now have is so worth it. Yesterday’s news, sister.”
So it’s time to go to court and I say “I won’t go” and my husband
says “Okay” and so I say “Okay, I’ll go.” So we go to court. The press
is indeed here. And I hold my breath, and it feels good when the
judge says that my husband will not be going to jail and it feels like
someone is stabbing me in the eye when she announces that he will
have to register as a sex offender. Immediately after we go to the
third floor. While my husband meets with the probation office, I sit
in the gray waiting room with other people who I guess are also
married to criminals and I look up at the news on the fuzzy TV and
there’s my husband’s picture…one that I took of him in our back-
yard… How is this my life? And then we pick the boys up from
school and order in pizza and feed the dog and the cat and the four
of us play apples to apples.
Projected: news headline, “Director Gets 10 Years Probation.”
I go to work the next day.
I’m doing a couple of episodes of a new HBO show called Divorce
(I know!) I’m acutely aware of two things: One) My husband has
worked with many many people on this show, and Two) that the
story of my husband’s plea along with his mugshot is in today’s New
York Post. Now, everyone reads the New York Post. I know you say
you don’t, but you do. There’s usually at least one to four copies in
every hair and makeup trailer. I’m scared to walk in…but in I go—
and no one is reading it!! Exhale. Do your work. The whole world
has their own things to worry about and it’s not all about you. All is
well…all is well in this moment. And I go to set… And we are
shooting a scene where I play a realtor and I’m showing SJP (who
couldn’t be lovelier) a new space for her gallery—and it’s going very
well… I am standing upright and I am saying words and no one
seems to be able to tell that I was curled in the fetal position a few
hours ago. We are almost done and the director asks how I am and
I don’t start wailing so this is GOOOOD…but then the producer
says, “Hold on! The set looks way too neat…props! Can you crumple
up paper and throw it around?” So there…on the floor of the space

41
where I am shooting my scene, saying my lines, is today’s New York
Post with my husband’s mugshot… and nobody seems to notice.
Yesterday’s news, Sister.
The crazy thing is, because my story was in the paper, people share
their stories with me. I hear about people who look perfect on the
Facebook, but who are not perfect in the real life. People share their
struggles with addiction. I hear stories about affairs and bankrupt-
cies and deceptions and traumas and loss. And it is overwhelming
and it is comforting.
My panic attacks keep coming but sometimes now I am able to
greet them and say, “Hello!, thank you for sharing, now please get
out of here.” And I keep going.
I start to recognize that there are some gifts in all of this:
My husband was a good dad, but he is a way better father and
partner after rehab…after the fall. And we have a marriage that’s in
recovery…and we’re all living in New York City. My most favorite
place! I get to live here again…because of a disaster, but still a Gift!
My kids are rattled but they kind of love it here too. Sometimes.
And sometimes they don’t… Sometimes they hate it and sometimes
they hate me and sometimes they hate their dad. And that’s all okay
because they get to be allowed feel whatever they need to feel—all
of the anger and all of the love. I used to think that my main job as
a mom was to shield them from all of the pain and the hurt. But
that’s impossible here…so now I think the real key is to stand by
and bear witness and let them sit in some very uncomfortable
feelings and hopefully model for them that those feelings—the bad
ones and the good ones—will pass. I know this now. That is a gift.
Speaking of gifts, everyone has THE PERFECT BOOK for me. And
I will read anything as long as it promises some kind of spiritual
relief. Some mornings I look over at the giant pile of books by the
side of my bed and I grab one and open to a page and it is perfect
and comforting. Other days I pick up a book but I just want to
throw the book at my husband’s head… Some days it’s very hard
for me to get out of bed at all…
So I build up my army…not just my ladies from rehab…new friends

42
and old friends, my family… Deep, real, messy people who have
seen me at my ugliest and who know the whole story and they
love me anyway and I love them back. And we all practice being
accidentally brave together.
There’s a saying that I have been hearing a bunch lately and I
really like it: GO WHERE IT’S WARM. I think that for a long
time I was GOING WHERE IT WAS FAMILIAR, confusing that
with warmth. Oh…also I’m having a lot of hot flashes these days.
They really suck. But I have found a kind of grace in these flashes:
utter powerlessness and knowledge that they WILL pass. So the
other day I’m sitting in a meeting looking at the flimsy cardboard
sign in front of me with the slogan GO WHERE IT’S WARM
and I’m wiping away my beads of sweat and I realize, “Hey it’s
MEEEEEE!! I am where it’s warm!!” I can’t look for it over there…
or out there…it’s me.
So even though I really want you and my kids and my husband
and my therapist and my angel to keep me warm…they can’t…
But I can… I can do it myself.
When I lost my mom, my story changed; the unimaginable happened.
And I gritted my teeth and pulled up my socks, and I built a new
life. A new story that I thought no one could break. And then another
unimaginable thing happened. But this time I am not rushing to be
“over it” so that it makes other people feel better. And this time, I
can already see that in trauma there can be growth and hope and
good. And this time, nobody died…but there’s still (deep) grief.
And this time, I am telling my story and hoping to be of service.

End of Play

43
 PROPERTY LIST
(Use this space to create props lists for your production)

44
 SOUND EFFECTS
(Use this space to create sound effects lists for your production)

45
Dear reader,

Thank you for supporting playwrights by purchasing this acting

edition! You may not know that Dramatists Play Service was
founded, in 1936, by the Dramatists Guild and a number of
prominent play agents to protect the rights and interests of play-
wrights. To this day, we are still a small company committed to
our partnership with the Guild, and by proxy all playwrights,
established and aspiring, working in the English language.

Because of our status as a small, independent publisher, we respect-

fully reiterate that this text may not be distributed or copied in any
way, or uploaded to any file-sharing sites, including ones you might
think are private. Photocopying or electronically distributing
books means both DPS and the playwright are not paid for the
work, and that ultimately hurts playwrights everywhere, as our
profits are shared with the Guild.

We also hope you want to perform this play! Plays are wonderful to
read, but even better when seen. If you are interested in performing
or producing the play, please be aware that performance rights
must be obtained through Dramatists Play Service. This is true for
any public performance, even if no one is getting paid or admission
is not being charged. Again, playwrights often make their sole living
from performance royalties, so performing plays without paying
the royalty is ultimately a loss for a real writer.

This acting edition is the only approved text for performance.

There may be other editions of the play available for sale from
other publishers, but DPS has worked closely with the playwright
to ensure this published text reflects their desired text of all future
productions. If you have purchased a revised edition (sometimes
referred to as other types of editions, like “Broadway Edition,” or
“[Year] Edition”), that is the only edition you may use for perfor-
mance, unless explicitly stated in writing by Dramatists Play Service.

Finally, this script cannot be changed without written permission

from Dramatists Play Service. If a production intends to change the
46
script in any way—including casting against the writer’s intentions
for characters, removing or changing “bad” words, or making other
cuts however small—without permission, they are breaking the law.
And, perhaps more importantly, changing an artist’s work. Please
don’t do that!

We are thrilled that this play has made it into your hands. We hope
you love it as much as we do, and thank you for helping us keep the
American theater alive and vital.

47
Note on Songs/Recordings, Images, or Other Production
Design Elements

Be advised that Dramatists Play Service, Inc., neither holds the

rights to nor grants permission to use any songs, recordings,
images, or other design elements mentioned in the play. It is
the responsibility of the producing theater/organization to
obtain permission of the copyright owner(s) for any such use.
Additional royalty fees may apply for the right to use copy-
righted materials.

For any songs/recordings, images, or other design elements

mentioned in the play, works in the public domain may be
substituted. It is the producing theater/organization’s respon-
sibility to ensure the substituted work is indeed in the public
domain. Dramatists Play Service, Inc., cannot advise as to
whether or not a song/arrangement/recording, image, or other
design element is in the public domain.

48