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"Most people either overshare their worst moments or bury them completely," she told me. "You just told me what happened, plainly, like it was simply a fact about your life instead of a wound you needed me to carefully avoid touching."
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I think about that pounding on my door often, the exact moment Delphine's fury revealed considerably more about our marriage than six comfortable years ever had. I understand now that losing my job didn't actually cost me anything I couldn't eventually recover from.
What it revealed, considerably more permanently, was a marriage that had never once been tested until the exact evening it finally was — and failed, completely, in the twenty minutes it took my wife to pack a single suitcase and walk out the door.
