The bed beside me was empty when I woke up.

For the first time in years, I hadn’t heard his breathing in the dark or felt the dip of the mattress under his weight. After the storm that had ripped through dinner, Matthew had not returned to our room. I lay awake long after midnight, waiting for the door to creak open. It never did.

I had expected his temper to follow me here, expected a knock, a shout, the usual storm, but instead, he had gone to the bedroom and slept through the night.

For a ...