Fifty-One Hours
Nobody decides to lie to their wife for four years.
They decide not to say it this afternoon, and then the afternoon becomes the reason, and it compounds daily at a rate nobody in it can see.
He is a good father to our living son.
He has never once told me I was overreacting.
He will say the thing out loud to a sixteen-year-old in 2037 because he agreed to it in writing and because he is not a coward about paper.
And I will never be in a room with him again that I do not have to be in, for as long as I live.