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And now they were facing each other across the kitchen table while rain dripped onto the patio outside.
“You’re awake early.” Sean poured her a mug of coffee and handed it to her. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Not much. You?”
“No. Why did you choose to sleep in your old room?”
“I don’t know.” She took a sip of coffee. Her eyes felt gritty. “I was tired when I arrived and picked that room. I think I needed a complete change.”
“From me?”
“No.” She put her mug down. The article lay on the table between them, along with so many things that needed to be said. “I didn’t plan any of this, Sean. So many things happened that last day, and in the months leading up to it. Something inside me snapped. I felt overwhelmed all the time. And isolated, as if all I was to my family was a fixer—someone to bring them things they’d forgotten, book tables they couldn’t be bothered to book, or cook meals so that they didn’t have to. I’d ceased to be a person. And that was my fault, because I allowed it to happen and I didn’t say anything.” And it was a relief to finally say it. A relief to have it out there in the open.
He looked gaunt. “I should have noticed. I’ve been so damn selfish.”
“I didn’t really notice. Every moment of my day was swallowed up by things that needed to be done. There was no time for reflection. Painting used to be a bit like meditation for me—a time to be focused, and calm. When I stopped doing it, I lost that. I never had the time—or took the time—to stop and wonder if I was living life the way I wanted to. That day I left, all I wanted was space to think.”
“I’ve gone over that day in my head. You suggested dinner and I asked you to book somewhere, after first having assumed you wanted the kids along—and it was our anniversary—” He shot her a mortified look. “I don’t even know where to begin apologizing.”
“It wasn’t your finest moment, but a marriage is made up of many parts thankfully, and you’ve had many fine moments.”
“You should have hit me over the head with a skillet, like your mother did that intruder. If I hadn’t found that article, would you have said something?”
“Yes. I needed time to figure it out, that’s all.”
“You didn’t want to come home. That says a lot.” His eyes were tired, his jaw dark with stubble and he’d never looked sexier in his life.
Or maybe she was so shaken up by the thought of losing him she was noticing things she’d stopped noticing. Time did that, didn’t it? It made your gaze skim over things that should have captured your attention.
“I was going to come home, Sean. I was going to speak to you about the way I felt. I just hadn’t planned how or when. I didn’t know you’d find the article.”
“I didn’t find it. The girls did.”
“Oh.” Guilt mingled with anxiety. “How?”
“I sent them to find the spare car keys. They searched your bag and found it.”
It hadn’t occurred to her for a moment that anyone but her would ever read it. “What did they say?”
“Nothing at first. They didn’t know what to do, so they kept it to themselves for a few days and asked lots of questions they considered to be subtle. Then yesterday they confronted me. They had a lot of questions, none of which I could answer, which didn’t make me look great. If there are problems in your marriage, generally you’re supposed to know about it.”
“Are you angry?”
“No. At least, not with you. Maybe with myself, for not seeing how you were feeling, or better still being more thoughtful so that you didn’t feel that way in the first place. Mostly I’m—” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Shaken. Helpless. Scared, because I love you and I didn’t see what was going on. I thought we were happy. It’s terrifying to know you were thinking all these things you didn’t even share. I don’t claim to be an expert on relationships, but even I know you can’t fix something you don’t know about.”
Oh Sean.
She felt a lump in her throat.
“I love you too.”
“Then why this?” He touched the offending article with his fingers. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“When? When do we ever talk about ourselves or our relationship, Sean? We talk about life, about the girls, about practical things.”
He fiddled with the paper. “Eight signs. How many apply to us? I read them, and I wasn’t sure. Which again doesn’t say much, does it? I mean number two—” he gestured at the paper “—You never spend time alone together. That’s definitely true, I see that now.”
“Sean—”
