![]() Why can’t you figure out your balance in that same time?” In the last four years and seven months, She’s learned to walk, talk, do some chores, and she’s going to go into school knowing some reading, adding, and subtracting. She’ll be in kindergarten this September. “I’m a human being! I’m trying to find a balance!” Again, the echo, louder, jumbled, not going away as it bounced off of the walls, building and multiplying. “How many times have I had to get Ever out of bed late at night, get her things, and bring her to the hospital like that because you’ve gotten hurt? You’re a mom.” His voice was more weary than his expression was. We agreed on rules, the therapist signed off on them, and you broke them,” he said. “It’s the work culture! How many times do I have to say it!?” Her voice echoed down the hallway, and the echo came back different. I don’t even know where you are some nights, and it’s not because of work.” That you needed to take it easier and be more reliable. His voice was calm, in stark contrast to hers. “Don’t fucking reduce it to numbers,” she said, angry now. “Seventy-five percent me, twenty-five percent you, then,” he said. ![]() “This isn’t just about me,” she said, raising her voice. “-But you’ve told me it before,” he said. “I’d say you could tell me things were going to be different-” He took a long time to decide what to say. The water hadn’t even dried from when he’d walked in from outdoors and it was clear in his body language he was about to go. He had his jacket and shoes on, and he stood in the hallway, while she stood in the living room. The front door was ajar, the world outside dark. His head was shaved, his chin was marked with stubble, and he looked weary. “It’s not like I didn’t give you warnings,” he said. She stared up at the ceiling, tears in her eyes.
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