I looked at him, certain I had misheard.
“The gas station is half a mile away.”
“You have a car.”
He returned to bed.
I stood alone in the hallway, wondering when the man I married had become someone I no longer recognized.
Ryan had not always been like this.
Or perhaps he had, and I had spent years making excuses for him.
He was charming when things went his way. He could be funny, attentive, and generous when nothing disturbed his plans.
But when he was tired, disappointed, or inconvenienced, everything became someone else’s fault.
Before my pregnancy, I had adjusted my life around his moods without realizing it.
I changed dinner plans when he had a difficult day.
I canceled visits with friends when he wanted the apartment quiet.
I apologized when he forgot important dates because reminding him made him feel “pressured.”
Little by little, keeping Ryan comfortable became my responsibility.
