At my father’s retirement dinner, my parents seated my husband

in enough to fund. And nobody ever once asked me what I do all day. With actual children. Who can’t read when they come to me and can when they leave.”

Marcus’s hand tightened around mine.

My father opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I’d like to hear about it,” he said finally. “What you do all day.”

It wasn’t enough. We both knew it wasn’t enough, forty years continue reading …