The kids were successful.
They were independent.
That was the goal.
All of those things were true.
But being proud of the people our children became didn’t mean Greg couldn’t grieve the version of himself they no longer needed.
Still, I pointed toward the guest bed.
“None of this excuses lying to me.”
Greg gave me a guilty smile.
“I know.”
“You let me believe you were avoiding sleeping beside me.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was losing my mind.”
“I thought you were hiding something awful.”
He winced.
“That’s fair.”
I looked down at Susan.
“You were so afraid your sadness would bother me that you turned it into a secret that started hurting our marriage instead.”
Greg didn’t argue.
A tiny cry came from the box nearby.
He immediately started to stand.
I caught his wrist.
“Before anything else, we’re calling the rescue.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
By 4:30 that morning, both kittens had been examined by the rescue’s emergency veterinarian.
They were cold and hungry but otherwise stable.
The woman at the desk recognized Greg as soon as we walked in.
She looked at the kittens and smiled.
“Another one with a retirement-home name?”
I slowly turned toward my husband.
Greg sighed.
“There was also a Charlie.”
Apparently, six months of volunteering contained more stories than he’d admitted.
