He didn’t.
“You’re telling me my husband is moving to another state in six weeks?”
“He was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Of course he was.”
I looked down at the lunch bag.
The sandwich.
The apple pie.
The little note.
You don’t have to take care of everyone. Let me have a turn.
For some reason, those words suddenly embarrassed me.
I had been worried about a man who had apparently been planning to move his entire family across the country without telling me.
“How long has he known?”
Arnold didn’t answer.
“Arnold.”
He sighed.
“Months.”
My heart sank.
“How many?”
“About four.”
I stared at him.
Four months.
Four months of family dinners.
Four months of school meetings.
Four months of birthdays and grocery lists and bedtime conversations.
Four months of me asking Ben why he seemed distracted.
And every time, he’d said he was tired.
