Dear Amy, First my husband told me he didn\'t love me.
Amy.
And take care.
Find love, finally.
Move back again to your dinky homeTown and the women who helped raise you.
Cry for five more weeks.
Send your Daughter to college.
Grab your second chance--and your third, and your fourth.
Laugh with abandon.
Love fiercely.
Date some more.
Do your best to replace a legend.
When she\'s a teenager, just when you\'re both getting comfortable, uproot her and move to Chicago to take a job writing a nationally syndicated advice column.
Watch your Daughter grow.
Teach nursery school and Sunday School.
Develop a career as a job doula.
Fail up.
Make friends.
Start to date.
Start to work in Washington, DC.
Do your best to listen to their advice but don\'t necessarily follow it.
Drink lots of coffee and ask Them what to do.
Nestle in with your quirky family of homeTown women--many of Them single, like you.
Cry for five weeks.
Live with your sister in the back bedroom of her tiny bungalow.
Take your baby, get on a plane, and move back to your dinky homeTown in upstate New York--the place you couldn\'t wait to leave when you were young.
What should we do?Desperate Dear Desperate, I have an idea.
We don\'t really have any friends here.
And now here I am--exactly where I didn\'t want to be My Daughter and I live in London.
I told myself I\'d never be divorced.
Amy, I don\'t want to be a single mother.
Then he left me with a baby to raise by myself.
Then he said he didn\'t think he had ever really loved me.
Dear Amy, First my husband told me he didn\'t love me
