"Then Nick will die too. Nick and Amy will be gone, but then we never really existed. Nick loved a girl I was pretending to be; Cool Girl. Men always use that, don't they, as their defining compliment. She's a Cool Girl. Cool Girl is hot. Cool Girl is game. Cool Girl is fun. Cool Girl never gets angry at her man. She only smiles, in a chagrined, loving manner, and then presents her mouth for fucking. She likes what he likes. So evidently, he's a vinyl hipster who likes fetish manga. If he likes girls gone wild, she's a mall babe, who talks football and endures Buffalo Wings at Hooter's. When I met Nick Dunne, I knew he wanted Cool Girl, and for him, I'll admit, I was willing to try. I wax-stripped my pussy raw. I drank canned beer watching Adam Sandler movies. I ate cold pizza and remained a size 2. I blew him, semi-regularly. I lived in the moment. I was fucking game. I can't say I didn't enjoy some of it. Nick teased out in me things I didn't know existed. A lightness. A humor. An ease. But I made him stronger, sharper. I inspired him to rise to my level. I forged the man of my dreams. We were happy pretending to be other people; we were the happiest couple we knew. And what's the point of being together if you're not the happiest? But Nick got lazy. He became someone I did not agree to marry. He actually expected me to love him unconditionally, then he dragged me, penniless, to the navel of this great country, and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier Cool Girl. You think I'd let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? No fucking way. He doesn't get to win."