The Morning I'll Never Forget
It was a Tuesday. The kitchen smelled like coffee, but the air between us was ice-cold.
David stood at the counter, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling slightly as he poured his third cup. He wouldn't look at me.
Finally, he spoke:
"Jen… I can't do this anymore. I think we need to spend some time apart."
Time apart. The words every married person dreads.
I felt my stomach drop. My hands went numb.
"Apart? David, what are you talking about?"
He finally looked at me, and I saw something I'd never seen before in his eyes: exhaustion mixed with hopelessness.
"I haven't slept through the night in 8 months, Jen. I can't think straight. I can't function. I love you, but I can't keep living like this."