She could not tell me because I was the only person in her entire life who had ever wanted her. You do not hand that back. You do not say please, less to the one door that ever opened.

So she got quieter, and I mistook it for peace.

Chapter 12 — Room Temperature

In February she started leaving the house at night.

Not often. Once or twice a week, after Ava went down, she’d take her keys and say she needed air, and be gone an hour and a half. I said nothing about it for five weeks, which I want credit for, because it cost me a great deal.

Then one night in March she came back at eleven-forty and I was in the kitchen.

“You’re up,” she said.