Before I left the house that morning, I’d asked Norman if we could invite his parents for dinner that night. I told him I wanted them over so we could explain things together.
I said it lightly, as if it were my idea to soften the disappointment.
“They deserve to hear it from us,” I said while rinsing dishes. “I don’t want rumors or half-stories.”
Norman looked almost amused. “Fine. Maybe they’ll finally see that you were reaching too high.”
All I could think about was my husband’s face when he found out what I’d planned.
“They deserve to hear it from us.”
***
When I returned home that evening, I acted calm. I cooked dinner and smiled.
During the day, I’d planned every detail. I replayed conversations, rehearsed tones, and reminded myself of one thing over and over.
If I did nothing, that would never end. I couldn’t afford fear anymore.
My in-laws, Richard and Elaine, arrived right on time.
Elaine hugged me tightly, her perfume familiar and comforting.
I couldn’t afford fear anymore.
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“You look tired,” she said softly. “Are you all right?”
“I will be,” I said, and I meant it more than she realized.
Dinner started politely. There was small talk about the weather. Richard asked Norman about work, and the latter complained about a shipment delay as if it were the worst injustice in the world.
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