I always assumed that everything was shared between my husband and me.
Every dream, every small concern, every dumb joke. We celebrated our successes together,
supported one another during difficult times, and were aware of each other’s peculiarities and shortcomings.
That’s what I thought, anyway, until Christmas Day,
when everything I had assumed came tumbling down.
With his fingers tapping nervously
on our kitchen counter, Shawn began, “Andrea,
I have something to tell you.”
“My supervisor called.
I have an urgent client situation in Boston that he requires me to handle.
I studied his features as I looked up from my coffee.
His expression had changed in some way.
A glimmer of… shame? Fear?
