Fair warning: if you are reading this where young children might look over your shoulder and steal a peek, consider waiting until you’re alone.

What you’re about to read is second only to learning the truth about Santa Claus. The sad thing is, I’ve known this truth for a long time, I just didn’t want to believe it. Instead, like bringing Tinkerbell back from the brink of death, I was convinced if I believed hard enough, and got everyone around me to believe and applaud and cheer me on, my fantasy would come to life and I’d live happily ever after. (cue Disney music)

But, my friends, it’s time I admit: unicorns aren’t real. They are mythical creatures little girls fantasize about until we find real love. Until our hair is long enough for us to escape the tower where we’re trapped. Until someone kisses us so deeply they break the spell that’s made us sleep through most of our lives. Until mice make us clothes fit for a date with a prince, and no curfew or stepmother or glimpse of us in our real life as a scullery maid can scare him away.

And when a middle-aged woman’s heart is broken, the need to believe in such things is powerful.

One month before my husband walked out, I was planning how we’d celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary by renewing our vows. It wasn’t just any vow renewal ceremony. I’d found a German Medieval Festival looking for a couple willing to dress up and reenact a medieval wedding. I’d shared our story with the festival coordinator, told her all about our theatre background, found someone to make our costumes, told my parents and had them “save the date,” and fallen head over heels for this idea – the perfect blending of my husband’s love of role playing, our shared German heritage, and a fresh start for our next 21 years together.

So, you can see how convincing myself I’d found a unicorn really wasn’t that great a stretch for me.

Alas, unicorns aren’t real. And I need a better plan for escaping the crappy life I’ve trapped myself in without waiting for my hair to grow or the right man to kiss me or mice to make me a dress. As tempting as the fantasy is, for now it’s back to reality.

Reality bites.