He came home at 12:40.

I heard the car.

I heard the front door.

I heard him stand in the hallway downstairs for a very long time — three minutes, maybe four — and then come up.

He stopped in the bedroom doorway.

He had been crying.

His face was wrecked.

He looked, honestly, terrible, and some part of me that had loved him since I was twenty-one registered that and hurt.