Liars

by Sarah Manguso

I tucked away the little shard of the day because I couldn’t imagine that it could be true, that he would actually think what he appeared to be thinking.

I thought, If I had the energy I’d leave him, and then I folded up that little thought, wrapped it in gauze, and swallowed it.

John made art on the weekends because he felt entitled to, and I did errands and chores on the weekends because I felt responsible.

Soon I was doing everything, and John accused me of trying to control everything, but his accusation, though correct, failed to acknowledge the reason it was happening.

I had infinite patience with my one-year-old, whom I held to the behavioral standards of a two-year-old, and almost no patience with my husband, whom I held to the behavioral standards of a mother.