Jason walks down the stairs the next morning while I'm balancing my accounts in the kitchen. He has a major limp, so he has to lean on the banister for some time, but he eventually makes it down the stairs.

We mutter, "Good morning," at the same moment, and suddenly, the air is awkward.

I clear my throat. "Did you sleep well?" I ask like I did not hear his shouts clear across the house last night.

I'd initially thought it was his work out regime that had caused it. I'd ...