“Do you?”
His head snapped toward me.
“God, no. Michael once put a Lego in the toaster.”
I burst out laughing.
Then Greg smiled faintly.
“I just miss being the person somebody called when the dark felt too scary.”
That silenced me.
I realized how often I’d responded to his sadness with logic.
The kids were successful.
They were independent.
That was the goal.
All of those things were true.
But being proud of the people our children became didn’t mean Greg couldn’t grieve the version of himself they no longer needed.
Still, I pointed toward the guest bed.
“None of this excuses lying to me.”
Greg gave me a guilty smile.
“I know.”
“You let me believe you were avoiding sleeping beside me.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was losing my mind.”
“I thought you were hiding something awful.”
He winced.
“That’s fair.”
I looked down at Susan.
“You were so afraid your sadness would bother me that you turned it into a secret that started hurting our marriage instead.”
Greg didn’t argue.
A tiny cry came from the box nearby.
He immediately started to stand.
I caught his wrist.
“Before anything else, we’re calling the rescue.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
By 4:30 that morning, both kittens had been examined by the rescue’s emergency veterinarian.
They were cold and hungry but otherwise stable.
The woman at the desk recognized Greg as soon as we walked in.
She looked at the kittens and smiled.
“Another one with a retirement-home name?”
I slowly turned toward my husband.
Greg sighed.
“There was also a Charlie.”
Apparently, six months of volunteering contained more stories than he’d admitted.
On the drive home, Greg finally sent Michael and Emma a picture of the kittens.
Michael called less than thirty seconds later.
“Dad, why are two kittens wrapped in my baby blanket?”
Greg rolled his eyes.
“You’re thirty years old, Mike.”
“Still my blanket.”
Emma joined the call moments later.
For several minutes, they teased their father relentlessly about naming kittens Susan and Steve.
Then Michael became quieter.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You know you’re allowed to miss us, right?”
Greg swallowed.
“I know.”
Emma spoke next.
“We miss you too.”
Then, without hesitation, she added,
“Also, my kitchen sink started making that weird noise again.”
Greg instantly sat straighter.
“What noise?”
I turned toward the window so no one would see me smile.
That night, Greg picked up his pillow.
I watched him head toward the guest room.
“Where are you going?”
“Susan needs another feeding in a couple of hours. I don’t want to wake you.”
There it was again.
The same habit.
The same mistake.
“Greg.”
He stopped.
“Ask me.”
He stared at me.
Then he tried again.
“Would you mind if I kept the kittens’ setup downstairs?”
“No.”
“And would you mind if I came back upstairs between feedings?”
I pointed at the pillow tucked beneath his arm.
“That’s where that belongs.”
His mouth twitched.
“Right.”
Before dawn, his alarm vibrated.
Greg sat up.
“Four o’clock.”
I opened one eye.
He hesitated for a second.
Then he asked,
“Want to come keep me company?”
“Yeah.”
Downstairs, Greg settled into the old rocking chair.
Susan and Steve were tucked together inside Michael’s faded blue blanket.
I sat beside him holding a mug of coffee.
Susan squeaked.
Greg looked down at her.
“Daddy’s here.”
This time, the words didn’t scare me.
I took another sip of coffee.
“Susan is still a ridiculous name for a kitten.”
Greg rocked gently.
“She has grown into it.”
I laughed.
When the feeding was finished, he looked toward the stairs.
“Back to bed?”
“Absolutely.”
Greg carefully placed Susan and Steve inside their warm little box and folded the blue blanket beside them.
Then he reached for my hand.
And together, we walked upstairs.
