I thought my husband’s long hours were the price of loving a man devoted to his work. Then one unexpected visit forced me to see how much had been decided without me, and I had to choose whether saving our marriage meant following his plan or finally making one of my own.
By the time Arnold’s eyes filled with tears, I was still holding the lunch I’d packed for my husband: Ben’s favorite sandwich, a slice of apple pie, and a note tucked beneath the fork.
“You don’t have to take care of everyone. Let me have a turn.”
I’d written it that morning.
Now I stood in the hospital corridor watching Arnold, my husband’s colleague, struggle to meet my eyes.
“I’m so glad I found you,” I said. “Can you tell me where Ben is?”
“You don’t have to take care of everyone.”
Arnold searched my face.
Then, without warning, his eyes filled.
“He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
My stomach dropped.
“Told me what?”
Arnold glanced toward the nurses’ station. Two women suddenly became very interested in their screens.
I tightened my grip on the lunch bag.
“He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”
“Arnold.”
He swallowed.
“He’s leaving, Chelsea.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Leaving who?”
His expression changed instantly.
“He’s leaving, Chelsea.”
