If I were Amber, and even though I’m not, can’t be, I would have done things differently. If I were Amber, I wouldn’t have lied or cheated, if I were her. I would have sat her down on the couch, like she didn’t do for me, but I would have sat her there and I would have said what I had been thinking. I would have told her everything, from the beginning, from the moment I knew that I had changed, that I didn’t love her. Not anymore, not like she loved me. I would have told her and we would have cried probably, and although it would have, at that time, felt like the worst thing ever, shattered glass surrounding us, we could have moved on. I would have left, got an apartment. She’d have the house. There would even be a chance that we’d see each other for a half hour or so every Christmas. But this is not the way it happened, because I am not Amber.