At church I met a handsome man with shining eyes. He was well dressed and enthusiastic, but the tattoo on his hand hinted that he had a past. Perhaps he was a recovering alcoholic, trying to make a new start.
We started dating around Thanksgiving, and by New Year’s, I had learned that he was not a recovering alcoholic, but an active heroin addict.
I am a small-town girl, a policeman’s daughter, now a single mother of four with a career. The idea of having a relationship — of any kind — with a heroin addict is absolutely unthinkable to me. Yet I have fallen in love with him.
