“You were so afraid of your own sadness disturbing me,” I said, “that you let the secret disturb our marriage instead.”
He didn’t argue with that, because there wasn’t an argument to make. A thin, urgent cry rose from the cardboard box beside us — Steve, awake and hungry. Greg started to rise. I caught his wrist before he could stand.
“Before you do anything else,” I said, “we’re calling the rescue. Tonight. Together.”
He nodded, some of the old ease returning to his shoulders for the first time all night. “Okay.”
PART FOUR: What Susan Taught Us
By four-thirty in the morning, the rescue’s emergency vet had examined both kittens by flashlight in our kitchen. Cold, underweight, badly frightened — but stable, and expected to make a full recovery. The volunteer at the intake desk took one look at Greg and didn’t even blink.
