I told him about the little pottery studio I’d once visited every Saturday, and how I used to think I might take classes seriously one day.

Then life filled with work, marriage, and a child, and the idea drifted into a corner of my mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me you missed it?” he asked.

I smiled faintly.

“I did.

A few times.

We were both busy, and it never sounded urgent enough to deserve space.”

He looked ashamed.