“Because I stopped to help somebody on the way in.”
“What does that mean?”
“There was a woman on the roadside. She collapsed. I stayed until the ambulance came.”
“And Gavin fired you for that?”
“He said I missed the Whitcombe presentation.”
Sarah remained quiet for several seconds.
Then she spoke gently.
“Chris, I’m sorry.”
Her sympathy hurt more than I’d anticipated.
We’d spent years learning how to communicate without reopening the painful parts of our marriage.
Yet occasionally, her voice still reminded me of the woman I’d once expected to grow old beside.
I swallowed.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Tuition is due next week.”
“I know.”
“I’m not bringing that up to pressure you.”
“I know.”
“And the mortgage?”
“I said I’ll figure it out.”
My response came out harsher than intended.
Sarah fell silent.
Regret immediately followed.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
