First, it was little things. He came home late.
“Tough day at work, Hanna,” he’d say, avoiding my eyes.
He’d eat dinner with us, smile at the boys, but then slip away to his office before dessert. I started cleaning up alone, wiping sticky fingerprints off the fridge and listening to the muffled sound of his phone calls through the door.
When Matthew spilled his juice and William burst into tears, I was the one kneeling on the kitchen floor, whispering, “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got you.”
Joshua would be gone, “work emergency,” he’d say, or just disappear behind the blue glow of his laptop.
First, it was little things.
One night, after another tantrum and too many peas under the table, I finally confronted him.
“Josh, are you okay?”
He barely looked up from his screen. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Are you… I mean, are you happy?”
He closed his laptop a little too hard. “Hanna, you know I am. We wanted this, right?”
I nodded, but something twisted in my chest.
“I mean, are you happy?”
Then, one afternoon, the boys finally napped at the same time. I tiptoed down the hall, desperate for a moment to breathe. I passed Joshua’s office and heard him, his voice low, almost pleading.
“I can’t keep lying to her. She thinks I wanted a family with her…”
