Our marriage didn’t break over betrayal or violence or some cinematic revelation; it shuddered over the stupid, ordinary question of which side of the bed belonged to whom. When David, twenty years in, quietly suggested we switch, the air thinned, like the room itself had shifted an inch to the left. After that, every small sound he made in the dark, each held breath and measured silence, felt like a code I was too slow to cra… Continues…
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