Grogan John. Marley and Me

We were young. We were in love. We were rollicking in those sublime
early days of marriage when life seems about as good as life can get.
We could not leave well enough alone.
And so on a January evening in 1991, my wife of fifteen months and I ate
a quick dinner together and headed off to answer a classified ad in the
Palm Beach Post.
Why we were doing this, I wasn't quite sure. A few weeks earlier I had
awoken just after dawn to find the bed beside me empty. I got up and
found Jenny sitting in her bathrobe at the glass table on the screened
porch of our little bungalow, bent over the newspaper with a pen in her
hand.