I spent so much of my life putting my family first that I forgot who I was outside of caring for everyone else. Looking back now, I can see the signs were there long before everything I thought I knew came apart.
Despite being all the way in the living room, I could smell the faint starch of Howard’s shirts, already pressed and lined up in the closet down the hall. I sat on the couch in the soft gray light before sunrise, rubbing lotion into my hands, which never seemed to stay soft anymore.
I was 56 years old and knew the layout of my house better than my own face.
I poured a second cup of coffee, which I wouldn’t finish.
***
By 7:15 a.m., I’d packed my husband Howard’s lunch, signed a birthday card for someone at the dental office where I worked full-time, and texted our son, Steve, back about helping him during his slow month at the shop.
“Mom, you’re a lifesaver,” he wrote. “Can you cover the gas bill until the 30th?”
“Of course, honey,” I typed without thinking.
The next thing I did was call my daughter, Monica. Her voice came through the speaker, breezy and rushed.
“Hey, can Biscuit stay with you again? Just four nights while I’m traveling.”
Biscuit is my daughter’s dog.
“That’s fine, sweetheart,” I said. “Drop him off whenever.”
“You’re the best!” Monica said excitedly.
Howard wandered in then, phone in one hand, looking past me at the refrigerator. He’d been doing that a lot. Looking past me, not at me.
“You ironed the blue shirt?” he asked.
My husband grunted, then chuckled at something on his screen. A small, private laugh, the kind people save for someone specific.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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