My husband skipped our 15th anniversary dinner to watch soccer with his friends. When …

sighed.

Not an apologetic sigh. Not a shocked, I-can’t-believe-I-forgot sigh.

An annoyed sigh.

“Clara,” he said, “you’ll still be here tomorrow. The game is only tonight.”

The words landed so quietly that I almost didn’t understand them at first.

You’ll still be here tomorrow.

As if I were furniture.

As if I were a parked car.

As if my love, my patience, my continue reading …