“I hide it to protect you,” Richard whispered.
I stared at him across the kitchen table, unable to understand what he meant.
For years, I had imagined every possible explanation for his strange morning routine.
I had wondered whether he was sick. Whether he was struggling with something he couldn’t tell me. Whether there was another person in his life.
I had even wondered whether I had somehow failed him as a wife.
But I had never imagined what he was about to tell me.
Richard lowered himself back into his chair and covered his face with both hands.
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