My wife left the night I lost my job, telling me, "I married a provider, not a problem" — three days later, she was pounding on my door, demanding, "How long were you planning to keep this from me?"

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"That's not the point," she said.

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"It's exactly the point," I said. "I couldn't tell you about the severance, or Draymond, because you were already gone before I had the chance to say anything past 'I lost my job today.'"

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She stood there for a moment, working through the timeline herself, some of her earlier fury visibly faltering.

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"You could have called me," she said. "Once you knew about the severance. Once the Draymond interview went well."

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"I could have," I said. "I chose not to, honestly, because I wanted to see whether you'd come back for me, or only for whatever financial security you eventually learned I still had. I think we both just got our answer."

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Delphine's face went through several rapid stages, landing somewhere between defensive and genuinely uncertain.

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"That's not fair," she said. "I panicked. Losing a job is scary, Weldon. I reacted badly, but I'm here now."