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The experience of the miscarriage was tragic but also one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.

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Marriage seemed like the easiest way to accomplish this, and hey, we were practically married anyway, right? We're talking horror-movie material, complete with hemorrhaging. Hemorrhaging all over the floor of my OB/Gyn's office while happy pregnant women sat in the waiting room flipping through parenting magazines, oblivious. I withdrew into myself in the months following the miscarriage.

I got tired of well-meaning people telling me to "get over it" or "move on." Something inside me had fractured, and it would take more than time to heal it.

Friends and relatives have expressed their admiration for the way we handled our split, with some variation of, “It’s so good you’re doing that for your son!

” But the truth is, we would be friends anyway, kid or no kid.

I had to acknowledge the true nature of my relationship with Seth. " Our friend Bengt was in town from New York and was coming over for dinner. So this was absolutely THE WRONG TIME to be having this conversation, because Bengt would be there any moment.

I also had to acknowledge that I had been lying to myself all those years: I wanted the whole package, not just the friendship. I told Seth that we should not be having this discussion now, but he persisted, so I had to give him the answer, which of course, he already knew. Once the initial shock wore off, Seth acknowledged that he was also not happy and didn’t want to be married to me anymore.

I fell in love with his quick wit through e-mails exchanged back and forth for a couple of weeks before we finally met in person. From the start, we were best friends who just happened to have sex.

It turned out we not only worked just a few miles apart, but we worked in the same industry, had the same taste in music and film, and the same sense of humor. I remember my friend Jessica commenting, “You guys don’t even seem like you’re dating; you act like brother and sister.” I chalked it up to my own low maintenance-ness (I’m not the kind of gal who needs flowers, if you know what I mean) and our mutual hatred of public displays of affection. We had been living together for about four years when we found out I was (oops) pregnant.

We still joke the way we used to, share bits of our day with each other, and of course make sure we are on the same page when it comes to our son.

We are best friends, but now without the pressure of framing it as a romantic relationship.

When I married my boyfriend in 2004, I never imagined that five years later we would be happily divorced, better friends than ever, and raising a kid together (just in two separate houses).

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