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Her ex-husband asked her not to tell people the real reason the marriage ended. The request landed less as a negotiation than as a line she immediately knew she could not cross.
There was a full-bodied feeling of, ‘No, I’m just going to tell people.’ If I did not tell them, I did not think I could survive it.
That refusal had a longer history than the divorce. Burden grew up watching her grandmother Babe Paley and her mother absorb infidelity through silence, and she came to see the book as the instrument that would stop the pattern from passing to another generation.
I think as women we’re taught that to be good, to be graceful, to fit in socially, that we need to clean up these things and sweep them under the rug... And I think when you do that, things get repeated across generations — that happened in my family of origins. So by writing this, by talking about it, I really want to break that pattern. [paraphrased from audio]
The New York Times ‘Modern Love’ essay she published in 2023, after the marriage ended during the first weeks of the pandemic, was the first time she tested whether that break was possible in print.
She had written an NYT essay defending her grandmother Babe Paley against a fictionalized TV portrayal, and the experience of correcting a record with precise prose showed her something about what she could do for her own story.
I gained confidence from the idea that I could correct my grandmother’s narrative with clear, direct prose. It’s exactly what I’ve tried to do for myself with my book.
Writing had been a desire she carried since her teens, one she set aside for law school and then a 20-year marriage. The divorce, and the stripping away of the life she had built around it, brought that desire back.
When my husband left, the layers were stripped away, and I was able to access pieces of myself that I thought I had lost for good — for me, one of those was writing.
The pandemic removed the coping mechanism she had used after her father’s death: throwing herself into work. Left without that escape during the first months of separation, she started walking and writing in tandem, both practices pulling her toward the same difficult material.
Both things felt meditative. As a writer I think we write to figure things out and this felt like a way to really stare at it head on.
The most consequential revision was not a structural change but a moral one. Her stepmother gave her a metaphor: move the spotlight. Turning it away from her ex-husband and onto her own decisions changed the shape of the book and, she says, her own thinking.
In the first versions of the book, I really made him a little bit more of the villain. And over time I just kept taking things out and tried to look at my own role in it, which was not to blame myself, but to say, ‘Okay, I made that decision about the prenup.’
She also pushed back against the frame most often placed around women writing about pain, a frame she finds both inaccurate and gendered.
I don’t think I wrote the book for catharsis or healing. I’m allergic to those words, because they imply that you’re really angry, and if you just get it on the page you’ll feel better. I also don’t think those words are used with male writers as much as with female writers. But like all writers, I really wrote to figure things out.
The practical logistics were as considered as the prose. She waited until her youngest daughter turned 18 before publishing, ran four legal reviews, and let her children choose their own pseudonyms. When asked by ELLE whether she sought their permission, her answer revealed the bind she was trying to avoid creating.
You’re asking them to decide between supporting their mom and hurting their dad.
She remained transparent with them throughout and says there is nothing in the book they had not already lived through.
The book had to do two things at once: tell the truth about the marriage’s end and refuse to let that ending erase everything that came before it. That balance was not just an artistic problem; it was what she owed her children.
I really wanted for my kids not to think only of their parents’ marriage in that one way — of its ending. I really wanted to resurrect all of that, and have that still be true. I think both things can be true. You can have that sad ending and still have the love story, and still have the years as a family.
Six years after the marriage ended, with a film adaptation in development, she measured what the break had cost against what it had returned. The accounting surprised her.
It is astonishing to me. It’s six years later. To go from there, which was literal — I was on the bathroom floor — to here, to speaking with you, potentially having this movie made is absolutely incredible. I could not have written this story. And I do think that even though, other than death or illness, this was one of the worst things that could’ve happened to me because I valued my family so much, now I’m actually happy that it happened because I never would’ve found this life as a writer.
Burden acknowledges that her family background, granddaughter of socialite Babe Paley and daughter of urban planner Amanda Burden, cushioned the financial shock of the divorce in ways most women in her position would not have had. She built that acknowledgment into the book as a condition of being believed.
I know that my privilege cushioned the fall in many ways. I had access to resources that many women in my situation wouldn’t have had. It felt essential to acknowledge this in the book: both my internal awareness of it and so that I could be a reliable narrator. But what I hope people come to see from my story is that money cannot protect anyone from heartbreak.
After years of looking for a more satisfying explanation for why her husband left, she settled on the one he gave her on the first day, stripped of embellishment.
I think where I land, where my brain rests, is what he said to me the first day: a switch went off for him, and there was no going back. It’s not much, but it feels true. I also think the metaphor of playing a role feels accurate. The role of husband and father became unsustainable for him. And when he left the stage, he couldn’t take off the costume gracefully.
The book’s argument against silence is not only personal history. She connects the impulse to stay quiet to a structural dynamic that protects the person who caused the harm.
There is an expectation that women should stay quiet and stay in our lane — that a ‘good’ wife and mother quietly cleans up when something becomes messy. When we refuse to do that, when we talk or write about it, we often make people uncomfortable, particularly in very traditional settings. But I would argue that staying quiet protects men. And it doesn’t help us.
The response that moved her most after publication was not a review. It was a message that the book had traveled into schools.
A big lesson is to remain fully engaged in your financial life, never abdicate it, and understand what will happen if the relationship ends.
At NPR she described learning that all-girls schools were planning financial literacy classes in response to the book, and said that made her incredibly happy.
Speaking out ran against her own temperament as much as against family tradition. The gap between who she was and what the book required her to do is part of what she wants readers to notice.
It would have been more consistent with my personality to have stayed quiet about this. I’m a pretty shy person.
More than a thousand direct messages arrived from women and men around the world after publication. The scale of that response was the measure she kept returning to when asked what she hoped the book would do.
I’ve received more than 1,000 DMs from women — and a few men — around the world, telling me that the book has meant something to them.