And somewhere in the six months since the twins were born, I had forgotten her.

I had let myself believe that motherhood meant suffering alone, that the only acceptable response to being overwhelmed was to be more overwhelmed, more quietly, that asking for help was weakness and hiring help was betrayal and my job was simply to drown, gracefully, without making a fuss.

Julian’s departure broke that spell.

Because he had made it perfectly clear that he was going to solve his exhaustion by leaving, by spending money and time on his own relief without a second thought, and I looked at that, and I thought: if he can do that, why can’t I?

If his tiredness entitles him to a fishing trip, why does mine entitle me only to more tiredness?