I open my mouth and hear his sigh. Nothing I say is the type of truth he will listen to or enough of a lie to entertain him. It’s no surprise he doesn’t understand me when I tell him I’m unhappy with our marriage.
Counselling? Are you freaking insane?
No. Actually I’m not.
He looks at me like I’m an alien that’s landed in the back yard.
You’ve a bee in your bonnet! Why? Menopause? Empty nest? You’ve hatched some idea that will cost me money? No. Over my dead body.
He isn’t sighing.
I’ve got the right to remain silent.