I understood, kneeling there, that my wife had built her whole secret not to deceive me but to protect me — to keep the worst of what she carried from ever touching our house — and that I had repaid that protection by assuming the ugliest possible thing about her.

The note in my hand was not a goodbye.

It was a woman fighting for her life, in the good sense, the real sense.

And I had almost kicked the door down on it.

Chapter 18 — I’m Sorry

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, and I crawled across the rug toward her.