My Husband Had a Name Once and So Did My Son
When I come home at night from yoga, I am so heartless, I cannot even pet the dog. I would rather sit on my hands than reach out to touch his fur, even when he nuzzles next to me on the couch.
Why are you sitting like that? my husband asks. Isn’t that uncomfortable?
I’m practicing, I say.
My husband does not ask: For what? Once we danced around this room rehearsing the tango for our wedding. Now he picks up the crumpled tissues scattered about the living room floor. [… continue reading here.]