“You and Brian at dinner.
The way you were talking.
How comfortable you are with him.”
I stared at him.
Brian and I had known each other since freshman year of college.
He had been my friend before I ever dated Michael.
He had been the person who invited a homesick eighteen-year-old to his family’s house because he couldn’t stand the idea of me eating cafeteria food alone all weekend.
Michael knew every piece of that history.
He had once loved it.
He used to joke that Brian deserved a finder’s fee for introducing us.
Now he was using the same friendship as evidence against me.
“At dinner,” I said slowly, “Brian told me a story about one of his coworkers getting locked out of his apartment in socks.”
Michael looked down.
“That was what I was laughing at.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You never asked.”
He looked back at the report.
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
“I was scared.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Do you know what I was scared of, Michael?”
He didn’t answer.
“I was scared our son would stop breathing while I slept.
I was scared my stitches weren’t healing right.
I was scared I wasn’t producing enough milk.
I was scared every time he cried and I couldn’t immediately figure out why.”
My voice stayed quiet.
“I was scared because I had just become a mother and my body didn’t feel like mine anymore, and the person who was supposed to be beside me had practically disappeared.”
His jaw moved, but no words came out.
“And while I was afraid of all of that,” I continued, “you were studying me like a suspect.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words came quickly now.
“I’m sorry.
I messed up.
I know I did.”
I watched him carefully.
A few weeks earlier, hearing Michael apologize would have mattered enormously to me.
I would have searched his voice for sincerity.
I would have wanted to believe there was a path back.
But childbirth had stripped my life down to essentials.
Sleep.
Food.
Safety.
Trust.
I no longer had the energy to pretend something broken was merely scratched.
Michael reached across the table.
I moved my hand away before he could touch it.
His face fell.
“Please.”
“No.”
“We have a baby.”
“I’m aware.”
“He needs both of us.”
“He needs parents who act like adults.
That doesn’t require us to stay married.”
