I Almost Left Him for Being Boring—Then My Post Exploded

kids.

Maybe a dog.

And then I pictured Michael at forty, body bent, eyes dull, still saying “I got this” because he didn’t know how to say “I can’t.”

The lump in my throat came back.

Not because I didn’t love him.

Because I did.

Too much.

Michael came home an hour later with a paper bag of generic takeout—something greasy that smelled like apology.

He didn’t continue reading …