conversations had slowly turned into logistics.
Bills.
Groceries.
The kids.
Repairs around the house.
After twenty-three years, I told myself marriages went through seasons.
At least, that was what I wanted to believe.
Saturday afternoon, Carl left almost three hours before I did.
He kissed the side of my head on his way out.
No compliment.
No real goodbye.
Just a quick kiss and the closing of the front door.
I stood there for a few seconds wondering why it felt strange.
Then I got ready and went to the party alone.
I arrived a few minutes after seven.
The moment I stepped into the private dining room, I heard Carl laughing.
I looked toward the bar.
And stopped.
His arm was around Sheila’s waist.
Not brushing against her.
Not helping her balance.
Around her waist.
She was leaning against him.
For a few seconds, I tried to explain it
