Tracee de Hahn

The Notebook

We’d been married ten years and Janie still believed in me. That’s why I didn’t tell her the truth: that my meeting wasn’t on the executive floor of the publisher’s office, but in a café down the street. It was the café where we’d met when I was an upcoming editor at a successful magazine, writing my great American novel at night, and she was a junior editor at Vogue. Now she was senior management and I wrote ‘contributing articles’ for anything that paid. The great American novel was on the backburner and had been for years.