All I did was go away for the weekend; by the time I'd returned, my husband had killed himself. It was thirteen years into my marriage before I realised Simon had bipolar. Despite our difficulties, I was living the life I'd always dreamt of. We were renovating our Victorian home, working hard in our respective careers, and considering adopting our second child. However, with each manic episode, my dreams were slowly deteriorating into heartbreak and sadness. In this raw and honest memoir, I want to share with you what it was like to live with someone who had bipolar and how I eventually came to terms with my husband's suicide. I hope this story will offer comfort and education to anyone struggling with mental health or grief.