You're sitting across from me at the table. It's our date night, something we don't do often enough. This is what's between us: Refinancing our mortgage, investing in the kids' 529's, our parents getting older, a bigger car, our work, fatigue, the next family vacation, time. We wonder loosely whether to go with the mushroom tortellini or the shrimp risotto.
I look at you. Deeper than I've had the breath to do in weeks.
There are new lines on your face, each one a story of concern for us, your family. I look at you, only half-hearing the words of explanation and regret.
"You're not listening to me," you say.
I look at your face, the face I've loved every day since I met you, and this is what I want to say: