When I asked Julian about it, he laughed. “Stress, Mom. Sometimes a hot shower helps me sleep.” His explanation sounded reasonable, and I accepted it without another question.
Then I noticed Clara’s hands. They trembled whenever Julian entered a room. She apologized for spilling water, dropping silverware, or forgetting something as harmless as a grocery item.
One afternoon, I found her standing beside the washing machine, staring at a perfectly clean white shirt. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked. Clara shook her head. “Nothing, Margaret. I’m just tired.” But when Julian’s car entered the driveway, her entire body became rigid with fear.
That evening, Julian complained that his dinner was cold. Clara immediately stood to reheat it, although the food had been served only moments earlier. He watched her without smiling.
“Perhaps you should pay more attention,” he said quietly. Clara lowered her eyes. I felt uncomfortable, but I convinced myself that every marriage had difficult moments behind closed doors.
