The thing I found most unbearable was how normal things seemed. Small talk and chatter passed its way around the table, filling the air in what an outsider may have considered to be a homey atmosphere.

But I wasn't an outsider and each breath I took made it feel like my chest was caving in. My eyes barely left my plate; my fork had impaled the same lone piece of broccoli over and over again, riddling it in tiny holes. Once it was well and truly murdered, I attempted to hide its body beneath the untouched splatter of cottage pie.

One of Joel's hands rested on my leg. It squeezed...