I guess more words have been written about my first wife, my beloved Norma Jeane Baker, than perhaps have been written about a great many other people who have become famous. Even after she became Marilyn Monroe, and long after her death, the words keep coming and coming. They'll never stop. Sometimes the words liken Norma Jeane to a caterpillar becoming a beautiful and fragile butterfly, but that's not true. Norma Jeane was always a butterfly. She was beautiful all of her life, within and without. During our courtship and marriage I never stopped loving to be with her, to stare at her, to laugh with and love her. We had a wonderful, joyful marriage. But in the end, it was not enough for Norma Jeane. Like all beautiful butterflies, she had to fly away. The difference between the millions of other words written and the ones within this book is simple; mine are not conjecture. Mine are not research. My words are true because I was there. I had the honor and privilege to have lived the experience. The words in this book are all true, because Norma Jeane Baker was my wife.