It was there when I got home.

My dinner.

Two bowls covered with a napkin.

I hate it when she does this- plays the dutiful wife when I have been a jerk.

That ‘coals of fire’ thing they taught us in Sunday School actually works.

It makes me feel worse for not being there for her.

These days, she spends more time staring at the TV than she does anything else.

Not that I can blame her.

The characters in the telenovela are loyal.

They are there when she needs them.

Monday to Friday for an hour.

Throw in Sunday, when they do the two-hour omnibus discussion.

Pablo and Maria make her smile.

I, on the other hand, remind her of the pain, the loneliness.

The fact that she can’t give me a child.

After three miscarriages, I was done trying.

The depression, the crying, it was all too much to take.

I was hurting too, but my world didn’t stop.

Besides, what was the point in trying again if she was just going to lose it?

So I started coming home at midnight and leaving at dawn,

Avoiding the misery she had rained on the house.

I don’t know how we got here.

I promised her she would never have to feel alone,

That we could work through anything

And yet, here we are…