He laughed.
“I have slept.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
I rolled my eyes.
He kissed my cheek.
“I’m serious. I’ll be back Sunday night.”
Emma wrapped both arms around his waist.
“Daddy, are you going on an airplane?”
“No airplane.”
Continue on the next page:
Buzz
At family dinner, my husband secretly emptied a tiny white packet into my soup, then sneered, “Eat it, Diane. Stop pretending to be sick for attention.”
The moment I saw my husband empty a small amount of white powder into my bowl of chicken soup, twenty-six years of marriage changed…
