The year started as any good new year would: climbing onto the roof of a McDonald's, tooting our party horns at the passersby below as they got arrested for public drunkenness, and cleverly avoiding our own arrest by giving false names to the rental security boys who came up to the roof to see who was causing the cacophony. The following morning, my husband went to our home and I went back to the vacation rental I'd been living in for the preceding two months. I didn't want to get divorced. It was that simple. I was not going to fail at my marriage. I was not going to have that on my docket. I was going to make this marriage - this combination of two forces so powerful that we were once called the "Hepburn and Tracy of Honolulu" - work. We were the fairy tale couple and there was no way I was going to let that go. No matter how awful it was. You'd think that the separation would have been a clue, but I didn't truly realize that my last year of being married in Hawaii was really my last year of being married in Hawaii until I was actually on the plane and leaving. After all, the year started as any good New Year would.