For the first time, I understood what he’d been thinking.
I still hated what he’d done with it.
“If you hadn’t gotten sick,” he asked, “would we still be married?”
“So you waited until today.”
Months earlier, I would have protected him from the answer.
“I don’t know.”
Theo looked away.
“But you don’t know either,” I continued. “We were falling apart before cancer. Then you got sick, and suddenly we needed each other so badly that neither of us had to ask whether we were actually happy.”
“I don’t know.”
He looked back at me.
“Do you still love me?”
“Yes. But I loved you when I was miserable too. I’ve learned that love can keep you somewhere long after the life you’re living stops working.”
His eyes filled.
“So what happens now?”
“Do you still love me?”
I shut the suitcase.
“I’m leaving tonight. Not because I’ve decided on divorce. Because for once, I need to make a choice without being your nurse, your fixer, or the woman who’s terrified you’ll fall apart without her.”
