He reached for my hand.

I wanted to pull away and wanted even more desperately to hold on.

I let him take it.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he began.

“Then tell me what it looks like to you.

Because from here it looks like my husband has been ill for months and decided I wasn’t part of his life anymore.”

He looked toward the window.

“I thought I could get through the tests before it became real.”