That is a thing about this kind of marriage that people who haven’t lived in one find hard to understand — how thoroughly you hide it, even from the friend who could most easily help.

She had made a few careful comments, early on, the way good friends do, small doors left open: you know you can always talk to me.

You know your practice is doing beautifully, whatever he says. I had smiled and changed the subject every time, because to walk through one of those doors would have meant saying out loud what my life had become, and I was not ready.

She never pushed.