I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I know I don't like autobiographies or memoirs & yet, I still find myself trying to enjoy them. Then I feel bad for not liking them because I know it is someone else's story of survival, or true love, or whatever. This book, to me, should have remained a diary or something she published one copy of & kept for herself. It felt like a desperate attempt to justify missing her husband. ⭐⭐