He knew I wasn’t doing it on purpose.
He knew I was uncomfortable because our daughter was growing inside me.
He knew my hips ached, my feet swelled, and my back felt as if someone had driven a metal rod through it.
He knew all of it.
And he still pointed at the door.
“I have an important presentation tomorrow,” he continued.
“I cannot keep functioning like this.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
He reached toward the kitchen counter, grabbed my car keys, and tossed them onto the bed beside me.
“You have reclining seats.”
I looked down at the keys.
Then I looked at my husband.
“You’re telling me to sleep in the car?”
“For a few weeks.
Until the baby comes.”
“And where are you going to sleep?”
He gave me a look as though I had asked the stupidest question imaginable.
“Obviously, in our bed.”
