Her eyes lowered.
“But you were carrying almost everything on your own. And instead of helping, I blamed you.”
She wiped at one eye.
“I spent months wondering what I’d done wrong, Ross.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I kept thinking that if I’d been prettier, more interesting, or less tired, maybe you wouldn’t have left.”
The words hurt.
“Helena, you didn’t deserve what I did.”
She looked away.
“I just wanted you to notice me.”
I stared at the table.
Eleven years of marriage.
Three children.
Thousands of ordinary days.
And somehow, I’d failed to notice the woman who was holding our family together.
“I should have,” I whispered.
For the first time since returning, I didn’t ask Helena to give me anything.
No room.
No money.
No second chance.
I simply apologized and left.
I got the job.
The hours were early, the salary modest, and the work far less impressive than the career I’d once imagined for myself.
