Not yet.

Not this way.”

“Marcus” I started, but he shook his head, and it all came pouring out of him, the reasons, the terrible tender logic he had been living by for half a year.

“I wanted to give you one more year,” he said.

“You and Lily.

One more normal year, where nothing was different, where you didn’t have to look at me and see it.

I wanted one more Christmas where I was just your husband and her father and not a diagnosis.