The day after my husband told me that he wanted to separate, I stayed in bed late. Thinking. Calculating. Making lists in my head. It’s what I do to try to take control of a situation.

My process, so to speak.

Deciding that I needed sustenance in order to figure out how best to handle my soon-to-be status as a separated spouse, I went upstairs to our renovated Brooklyn brownstone kitchen and was greeted by the smell of breakfast and to the image of a bright sunny clean room, with my husband puttering around. When he saw me he smiled.

He smiled.

If this had been any other morning, I would have smiled back.

“Good morning!” He moved so quickly to kiss me I almost didn’t kiss him back.

I stood there taking in the whole scene, and wondered for one brief minute if I’d dreamed the whole separation thing up. But no, that would require me sleeping, which I definitely did.not.do.

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