At least, that’s what I believed.
I believed the missed dinners meant someone needed him.
The late nights meant someone was sick.
The weekend calls meant another family needed his hands.
And every time I felt lonely, I reminded myself that I had married a man who saved lives.
What kind of wife complains about that?
So I didn’t.
I became the wife who packed lunches at six in the morning.
The wife who remembered his conference dates.
The wife who kept extra shirts in the car because he’d forgotten his again.
The wife who told our daughter, “Daddy will be home soon,” even when I wasn’t sure he would.
And Ben loved me.
I never doubted that.
That was what made everything so confusing.
Because sometimes a person can love you and still make you feel completely invisible.
I just didn’t understand that yet.
I understood it on a Tuesday morning.
