Part Eight: The Preview

He came back that night to get more clothes, and we had the argument I had been waiting eighteen hours for.

It started reasonably.

It always does.

He sat on the end of the bed and talked about counseling and about the kids and about how ten years doesn’t get thrown away over — and there he stopped, because there is no end to that sentence that survives being said out loud.

Then he saw the folder on my desk.