In the beginning it felt like being seen for the first time; only later did I understand that a man who studies you that closely is not always memorizing you out of love.
Sometimes he’s taking inventory.
We married.
We merged parts of our finances and our lives.
And slowly, so slowly I couldn’t have named the day it started, the center of gravity in my own life shifted onto him.
My schedule bent around his moods.
My accomplishments became things to mention carefully, so as not to make him feel small.
When my company signed a large contract, I found myself downplaying it at dinner, because the last time I’d been openly happy about my own success, Weston had gone cold for three days, and I had learned — the way you learn to step around a loose board in the dark — not to do that again.
There was a night early on that I’ve turned over many times since, looking for the moment I should have known.
We’d hosted a dinner, and a guest had spent an hour asking me about the foundation, genuinely interested, and I had lit up talking about it the way you do about the thing you love most.