I stared at him.
“So you decided to blame me first?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have told me.”
“I was ashamed.”
“So you let me feel ashamed instead?”
He looked down.
I waited for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
Then I asked about the nightly ritual.
His face tightened again.
“The first time you said those words, I felt better,” he admitted. “You told me you wouldn’t blame me. I needed to hear it.”
“Once wasn’t enough?”
“No.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“Because every time I started thinking about the test results, I panicked. I needed you to tell me it wasn’t my fault. I needed to believe that you would never leave me.”
I felt sick.
“You made me responsible for comforting you about a problem you refused to discuss honestly.”
He nodded faintly.
“And when I refused?”
He closed his eyes.
“I got angry.”
