Mój mąż zawsze zostaje u swojej matki po kłótni – pojechałam o 2 w nocy, żeby go przeprosić, ale to, co zobaczyłam przez okno, sprawiło, że poczułam ucisk w żołądku

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one still trying?”

“This isn’t about my schedule.”

Ben went still.

I heard the sentence as soon as it left me.

I could’ve fixed it.

I didn’t.

Instead, I added, “Maybe you don’t want this as much as I do.”

His face changed.

“Maybe you don’t want this as much as I do.”

It wasn’t anger; it was something worse.

“What did you say?”

“Ben…”

“You think I don’t want a family?”

“I think you’re scared to even talk about it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What did you say?”

“Then explain it to me.”

He reached for his keys.

Panic shot through me.

“You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to Mom’s.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Of course you are.”

“Don’t do that.”

“You always leave when things get hard.”

“I leave so we don’t make them worse.”

“We’re already worse.”

He stared at me for a long second.

“You always leave when things get hard.”

When my father died, Ben had been the calmest person in every room I fell apart in.

Maybe that’s why seeing him look shattered scared me so much.

“Please don’t go like this,” I said.

“I need space.”

“From me?”

“From this conversation.”

“Please don’t go like this.”