Later that evening, after the four children had fallen asleep in a great pile of pillows on the living room sectional, Elena and Alex stood alone in the kitchen, holding warm mugs of tea.

“Do you still think we should try to get back together?” Elena asked, quietly.

Alex took his time before answering, which was itself a kind of progress.

“At first, I did,” he said.

“I think I confused guilt, and regret, with love.

I wanted to fix everything, all at once, to close the whole wound with one grand gesture, the way I used to try to close deals.” “And now?” “Now I know that our kids can’t be a bridge to rebuild a broken marriage,” he said, looking her directly in the eye.

“They deserve better than to be the glue holding together something that broke for real reasons.