“I saw your face in the kitchen.”
“What did you see?”
“I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
The honesty made him cry harder.
I held him through it.
“But I did not leave you.”
“You should.”
“No.”
“I’m horrible.”
“You were overwhelmed.”
“I yelled.”
“Yes.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
He drew back enough to see me.
“You can be angry?”
“I’m a person, Noah.”
His expression crumpled.
“I know. God, I know. That’s why I’m sorry.”
I wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“Anger does not cancel love.”
“You could become tired of this.”
“I am tired.”
His eye widened.
I continued before fear could twist the words.
“I am tired of insurers. I am tired of waking afraid. I am tired of seeing you in pain. I am tired of never knowing whether helping will comfort you or make you feel trapped.”
My voice roughened.
“I am not tired of you.”
He lowered his face.
