Silence, even kind silence, even the silence of a person trying to be considerate, is not always a gift.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is to make a nuisance of yourself, to keep asking the question the other person keeps deflecting, to refuse the easy comfort of the surface answer.

I did not do that.

I chose, over and over, to protect his exhaustion instead of pursuing his truth, and he chose, over and over, to protect my peace instead of trusting me with his fear, and between the two of us we built a wall of considerate silences six months high.

I do not blame myself for it, not anymore.