“No, Ben.”
He looked up.
“You were protecting yourself from having to ask for help.”
He didn’t argue.
Because he knew I was right.
The Letter That Broke My Heart
That evening, after Emily was asleep, Ben gave me a letter.
“I wrote this months ago.”
I unfolded it.
The handwriting was messy.
Some words were crossed out.
Some sentences were unfinished.
I began reading.
Sarah,
I don’t know how to tell you this.
Every day I go to work, I tell myself I’m doing it for our family.
But every night I come home and see how tired you are, I feel like I’m failing you.
I know you’ve noticed that I’m not myself.
I know you’ve wondered why I don’t talk anymore.
The truth is, I’m scared.
I’m scared that if I tell you how much the treatment costs, you’ll blame yourself.
