empty

That's okay," he says.

"No. I want to," i tell him.

"Really. It's okay."

I remove my hand from my husband's neck and place it on my lap. I look out of the window. I'm afraid i might cry. He puts his hand on mine. This time, i pull away.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

"It's not my fault," i tell him without looking at him. But i don't believe it. I think everything is my fault. i am the woman in the family; I'm supposed to make everything work. What i can't seem to say aloud is that i'm failing.



What does it all seem so familiar?