My husband appeared on the baby monitor every night at 2 a.m. carrying a mysterious paper bag—when I finally watched him open it, I gasped

he were trying to fill a hole inside himself. Then he would suddenly stop, lean his head against the wall, and write for ten or fifteen minutes.

On the fifth night, he cried. He covered his face with one hand and bent over the notebook. His shoulders shook once, then again, before becoming still.

That did not make the secret acceptable.

It made it human.continue reading …