“About us.

About why.

It’s time for you to understand why I really married her.” And there it was, the sentence I had feared in the dark of my own room five years earlier and had worked so hard to bury, spoken aloud at last in a buzzing hospital alcove at one in the morning, by the man himself.

Why I really married her.

As though there were a real reason, hidden beneath the visible one, exactly as my jealousy had once whispered there must be.