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“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, perching himself on his usual chair by the kitchen entrance. There just wasn’t enough space for two people to sit comfortably together in the tiny room.

“Not really,” I said, glancing away. Anxiety clawed at my throat as my body actively reminded me to keep my complaints to myself. For once, the voice of reason prevailed by quietly repeating, He’s not Jim. He wants to know. He won’t get defensive, until my throat relaxed. “But I think I should.”

Art’s eyebrows jumped, and he flashed me a surprised look before settling back in his chair as though he had all the time in the world and wasn’t the least bit worried about what I might say. “What’s up?”

I took a shaky breath and glanced away, sorting through my feelings to find what I really wanted to say.

“I like your kids. You know that, right?” I asked.

Art cocked his head slightly to the side and nodded. “Yeeeesss.” He drew out the word. “I get that impression.”

“And when you’re here with us, everything is great.”

“I agree.” He grinned. “It makes me so glad that the kids and I moved here,” he added, his eyes darkening slightly as they darted off to the side.

“That doesn’t feel so true, this week,” I said softly. Taking a deep breath, I blurted out what had been weighing on me. “I thought things were going so well, but it’s like you’ve checked out. Even when you’re here, which hasn’t been often these last few days, it’s like you’re not.”

He had the grace to look a little ashamed, but he didn’t reply.

“I wasn’t going to bring it up, because I thought maybe you just needed a little space and time to adjust to the new reality, but…” I let my voice trail away, unsure what to say next.

“But I keep leaving you the bulk of the childcare and housework and it’s not fair because they’re my kids, not yours?” he suggested matter-of-factly, like he’d been thinking the same thing.

I pressed my lips together and nodded, blinking back the tears welling up in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply, sounding sincere. “I didn’t really have a choice this week, but that doesn’t make it any better.”

“Why didn’t you have a choice?” I asked, catching the hitch in his voice he had tried to downplay.

Art stood up and paced awkwardly in the doorway, tension rolling off him in waves.

“What’s going on, Art?” I put down the paintbrush I’d picked up off the floor and faced him.

He sat back down and leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his clasped hands before letting out a long slow breath. Every second he delayed telling me what was wrong made my heart beat a little faster.

“You know how I’ve had to go in to headquarters every day this week?” He caught my eye roll and smiled sheepishly. “Obviously, you know. Sorry. The client isn’t thrilled how things are going. He thinks that bringing in an in-house trainer will be easier than liaising with our company overseas.”

“Can they even do that?” I asked, frowning. “Didn’t they sign a contract?”

Art grimaced and waggled his head side to side. “Yes. And no.” The question on my face was enough to encourage him to keep going. The contract covers the tech and materials; the training is more of a courtesy. We push it because it leads to better client retention, but in the end, it’s their decision.

“And they don’t want you guys any more.”

“Something like that.” The only sign that he was struggling with this was a small tic in his jaw as he clenched his teeth and stared at the floor between his feet.

My heart connected the dots my brain was still wrestling into place. If he lost his job… Pain left me gasping for breath as I shied from finishing the thought. It was too soon to jump to that eventuality anyway. He still had his job. Decisions didn’t have to be made. It didn’t have to hurt… yet. Or so my brain tried to reason. My heart didn’t agree.

“So…” I somehow forced the words through the tightness in my throat. “What does that mean for you and the kids? What does it mean for us?”

His shoulders stiffened as he looked down and sighed. “I don’t know yet. Soon. We spent all week pulling out all the stops on a presentation explaining why it’s in their best interest to keep my team on. They’re discussing it tomorrow, and they’ll let us know at the end of the day.” Looking up, he flashed me an apologetic half smile when he saw the expression on my face. “I’m sorry. They want me there in case they have questions. I hate to leave you with the kids another day, but…” As he shrugged helplessly, a wave of rage crashed over every other emotion battling for dominion in my heart.

Clenching my fists hard enough for my nails to cut into my palms, I fought the anger struggling to erupt until I was reasonably sure I wouldn’t explode all over him.

Throwing my hand up to stop him, I took a deep breath.

“You think I’m…”—I wanted to say furious, but I’d spent too many years modulating my emotions to keep from upsetting Jim to go there—“upset because you’re leaving the kids with me again?”

Art’s eyes flashed with surprise and he frowned. “You’re not?”