“Because you drove here on a Tuesday and haven't mentioned your wife once.”
I told him. He listened without visible surprise, though his knuckles whitened around the cup. He'd loved Natalie. When he was in rehabilitation after the stroke, she'd driven him to appointments, made him eat when he didn't want to, and stayed late to read newspapers aloud when he was too exhausted to follow the print. His affection for her wasn't imaginary, and knowing that made the next part harder.
“I don't know whether I'm making the right decision,” I admitted.
“Have you made one?”
“I told her I wouldn't stay if she left to see other men.”
“That's a decision.”
“But she thinks I'll change my mind.”
He was quiet for a while. Across the yard, the rain had begun to drip steadily from the gutter onto a stone paver. “Your mother and I disappointed each other plenty,” he said. “She was angry with me once for nearly a year over something I did with our savings. I thought I was helping us. I was really trying to prove I knew better than she did. It took me a long time to admit that.”
I looked at him. He'd never told me this story.
“She stayed,” he went on, “but she didn't stay because I promised she'd get over it. She stayed because I changed my behavior, and because she was free to decide whether that change was enough.”
“So you think I should give Natalie a chance?”
“I think you should give yourself one. I can't make her decisions for her, and I wouldn't tell you to make your life smaller because you're afraid of being alone.”
He reached over and squeezed my wrist. “You can love someone and still know they aren't treating you like a partner. That's the part people forget.”
On the drive home, I pulled into a roadside parking lot and cried again. It wasn't a dramatic breakdown. I cried quietly with both hands resting on the steering wheel, watching the rain smear headlights into long yellow lines. When I was done, I used the last clean napkin from the glove compartment to wipe my face and called the office. Priya Shah, our bookkeeper, answered. I asked her to email me a list of the documents I would need if I wanted an independent review of my personal finances. She asked whether I meant the business accounts, too. I said I didn't know yet.
“Daniel,” she said, carefully, “are you safe?”
“I'm not in danger. I just need to know where everything stands.”