My five-year-old daughter always bathed with my husband. They would stay in there for more than an hour every night. When I finally asked her what

shut off.

The door opened.

I forced myself to look normal.

Mark stepped out first, towel over his shoulder, that same easy smile on his face.

“Sophie’s almost done,” he said casually. “You didn’t need to wait up here.”

I stared at him.

At his face.

At the man I had shared a bed with for years.

And for the first time…

I felt nothing familiar.

Only distance.

Only continue reading …