When my husband doesn’t take my hand, when he turns me into a clementine, when he doesn’t ask me about my day, when he closes the shutters and draws the curtains before going to bed, when he interrupts me, when he forgets the name of a coworker I tell him about often, when he doesn’t seem particularly eager to see me again, when he lets go of my hand in the street, when he doesn’t answer one of my calls, when I catch him with his eyes open during a kiss: those moments set my marriage to a sad soundtrack.
