t was his default emotion, the one he alway

ng his knee against the coffee table. The flowers wobbled. "Y

out of concern.

Sarah? A hysterectomy? My God. Do

ot the fear, not the pain. How it looked. How i

dn' t have the strength for one of our old fights. The kind that went

ur life! This affects me! It affects our family! You can' t just make a

ion," I said, my voice dangerously qu

froze, his face a m

as a wor

more, Mark. I' m too t

and to be near him for another second. The

u drop this bomb on me and then you just walk

I just kept walk

ion required actual emotional honesty, he left. A few minutes later, I heard t

tew in my own anxiety and worry. Then, when he decided I had been punished enough, he would return, acting as if noth

the air. I went to the closet and pulled out a

y' s too. Her picture books, her favorite stuff

t a year into our marriage, over something trivial, a burnt dinner. He was gone for two days. I was frantic.

ghttime feeding. He accused me of not appreciating how hard he worked and left for a hotel. He ca

that weren't my fault. I had accepted his gifts as apologies because it was easier than facing the truth: th

use would be empty. There would be no one waiting for him. No one to a