She was lovely. Tall, thin, with lovely pale skin and light eyes set against dark hair. It was easy to see why any man would fall for her; why my man had fallen for her. Stylish, intelligent. Her body hadn't been ravaged by pregnancy and childbirth. I hated her. Hated her with a passion that made me sick when I set eyes on her. Yet, I saw something in her, something all too familiar. It made my heart skip a beat, calmed the flames of hatred, even for half a second. I pitied her. She was in love with him; he was her world. And he would leave her, she knew it. I pitied her, not because I saw a woman caught in a situation which could only end in heartbreak, because I saw myself.