"No. Finish."
She looked at me.
"I love you."
"That's not what we're discussing."
"Our marriage is good."
"Good."
"Not passionate."
The word landed.
I said nothing.
Claire continued.
"We've been coasting."
"We talk about having a baby like it's another project."
"We don't do anything spontaneous."
"We don't ask each other hard questions."
"Julian coming back has made me realize I've buried a lot."
I sat in the chair near the window.
"So your solution is two weeks alone with him."
"It's not about cheating."
"I didn't say it was."
"You implied it."
"I am saying the circumstances are insane."
"He's emotionally vulnerable."
"You have unresolved feelings."
"You want to revisit your romantic history at the place where that history happened."
"And you're asking me to pretend that is therapeutic."
Claire's eyes filled.
"I need to know what I actually want before we bring a child into this marriage."
That sentence cut deeper than everything else.
"What you actually want."
"I didn't mean—"
"Are you not sure it's me?"
"I am saying I have questions."
"About whether you want your husband or your ex-boyfriend."
"About my life."
"Stop hiding behind language."
She stood.
"You want me to say I'm confused?"
"Fine."
"I'm confused."
There it was.
I looked toward Milo because I could not look at her.
Our dog sensed tension and came over, resting his head on my knee.
Claire continued quietly.
"I married you because I loved you."
"I still love you."
"But reconnecting with Julian has made me realize that relationship ended without real resolution."
"I think if I face it completely, I can finally move past it."
"And you think sleeping in a cabin with him for fourteen nights will move you past him."
"We'll have separate rooms."
I laughed again.
"That's your reassurance."
"Yes."
"Do you hear how absurd this sounds?"
We argued for over an hour.
Maybe ninety minutes.
Time loses shape in arguments where neither person is actually negotiating.
I said:
"If you go, you are choosing a relationship with him over protecting this marriage."
Claire said:
"If you stop me, you are proving you don't trust me."
I said:
"I trust boundaries more than intentions."
She said:
"You cannot control who I spend time with."
I said:
"Marriage includes voluntarily not doing some things because they are destructive."
She said:
"You're insecure."
I said:
"You're asking permission for an emotional affair."
She said:
"You're making it dirty because you can't tolerate me needing space."
Eventually I stopped arguing.
Not because she convinced me.
Because I ran out of energy.
I sat on the bed.
Claire stood near the closet.
"Are you saying I can't go?"
I looked at her.
"I am saying I think going is a terrible decision."
"That's not what I asked."
"I'm not your father."
"I'm not going to lock you in the house."
Her face softened slightly.
"So you're okay with it?"
"No."
I said it clearly.
"No, Claire."
"I am not okay with it."
"But you're going to make your own decision."
That should have been impossible to misunderstand.
Three days later, she packed.
I watched clothes disappear into a medium-sized suitcase.
Hiking shoes.
Jeans.
Sweaters.