My husband’s abuse was never a secret between us. He told me about it the first time we met, while sharing stories about our Catholic education. I was deeply saddened to hear what had happened to him at boarding school – at the hands of monks – but considered his openness and honesty a healthy sign, an indication that he was, as he insisted, “over it”. A year later we married at Westminster Cathedral; our future together seemed bright, the abuse a mere dark shadow from the past.Looking back, I cringe at my naivety. The man I married was kind, sensitive, and had great moral integrity, but he was also deeply damaged – because when a child is sexually abused it destroys everything in their life. The bigger the betrayal, the more it messes them up. My husba