One time I grabbed my coat and said, “Wait, I’ll come with you.”
Ethan paused in the doorway. “You don’t have to.”
That hurt.
Sometimes he returned with little updates.“She’s craving oranges.”
“Her back is bothering her.”
“The baby kicked today.”
Those details were meant to include me, but instead they made me feel like someone reading postcards from a vacation they hadn’t been invited on.
Then there were the folders.
Ethan had always liked being organized, but this was different. He saved receipts, doctor’s notes, printed ultrasound photos. Everything was sorted and labeled carefully.
“Why are you saving all of that?” I asked one night.
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