At the grocery store, I overheard two women in the aisle whispering about “that Ainsworth girl” with the older man. My cheeks burned. I wanted to shout and defend her, but what could I say when I, too, didn’t know the truth? Silence was its own humiliation.
Martin carried the weight differently. He grew stiff, brittle, and angry at everything. When the mechanic called with a repair bill, he barked louder than necessary. When I left a dish unwashed, he slammed a cabinet. I knew the anger wasn’t about cars or dishes. It was about Nora and that man.