It was a moment I’ll never forget. It was a Friday or Saturday night, and my then boyfriend and I were at his cousin’s house just outside Albany. My routine was to drive two hours nearly every Friday after work and spend the weekend with him. He had his kids on Saturday, so it was easier for me to come to him, a gesture he never appreciated in the time we were together. On the contrary, he acted like he was doing me a favor by allowing me to visit. Sitting by the fire at his cousin’s house drinking beers and bullshitting was our weekend ritual. The topic unexpectedly turned to my writing. The previous week, I’d emailed my boyfriend a copy of my novel, a dark piece tentatively titled Cabin in the Woods, about two teenage girls murdering a friend. After reading it, he called me and said “This was disturbing. I’m freaked out by you and not sure I want to date you anymore.” I was alarmed. Our relationsh