Everything I Should Have Said To Him

“I love you”—of course I said that to him, many times; we were married, after all. But when he felt so trapped—in his mid-40s, in his systems engineering job, in the mortgage, and as the adopted son of an infertile husband-and-wife pair of doctors—when he felt so wounded-animal trapped that excising his love of eighteen years somehow finally seemed like how the could at least breathe again, I forgot to remind him of how he fell in love with how I’m both more cynical and more sincere than him (and it isn’t even a contradiction for me). I should have told him plain that I would always still be in love with him, told him back then just before he made me move out; I should have made clear that however he had changed how he felt about how he felt, I would be pained and in love still, now and ever since that first day February, 2001—that Krispy Kreme doughnut shop and trolley-ride downtown first date. I should have reminded him that no matter what, I’d be in love with him my whole life, regardless.

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