By the fall of last year, even I had to admit that my husband had been having problems. We barely saw each other and when we did we were living more like room mates than husband and wife. It had been going on for quite some time. In fact, my husband had spoken of separation months prior. But in a hysterical fit of panic and fear, I was incredulous.

It’s only been 3 years. How could you give up this quickly? You told me you were going through something, and needed space. I gave you space. What are you saying? What do you want me to do?

He demanded more attention.

I demanded he help pay the bills.

By Thanksgiving it was pretty obvious that things were too far gone for us to fix without help.  I kept trying to talk to him, but he kept dodging me. So I waited until we took my car to the garage for inspection. I pretended that I needed his help and didn’t want to go without him. He was happy to help. I knew I’d only have about 30 minutes while it was up on the lift to get a straight answer out of him.

Or so I thought.

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