“No.

And if he is, that’s something for him to manage.”

She considered this, then resumed her story about the cereal box.

I wished recovering were as simple as one brave conversation.

The truth was that sometimes I still checked my phone expecting Mark to tell me what I’d done wrong.

Sometimes the old impulse to apologize returned before I could stop it.

But the apartment stayed quiet, the girls slept through most nights, and each ordinary morning proved we could live differently.