On Christmas Eve, my husband didn’t arrive, and when I called him, I heard a woman’s voice saying, “He can’t talk. He’s with his wife, giving birth to their baby.”

I felt my anger waver but wasn’t ready to let it go. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

“I thought I’d be home before you even noticed,” he said softly. “But when it got worse, I couldn’t leave. And then when I saw you calling…” He looked down, guilt heavy on his face. “I panicked. I didn’t know how to explain without upsetting you, so I ignored it. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

I stared at him, my heart a mix of relief and frustration. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I thought you were cheating on me, Harold. I thought you weren’t coming back.”

His head snapped up. “No! Kelly, no. I would never—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off. “I need time to process this.”

He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”