It was a weird toast.
Not warm, but not mean either. Perhaps it was just a reflection of the awkwardness of sharing blood with someone you barely had a relationship with.
Caleb did well after we got married, better than anyone expected.
He got a new job, then a promotion, and then another.
He started coming home with stories about “connections” and “opportunities.”
“Guess I’m finally figuring it out,” he said one night, loosening his tie.
“Figuring what out?” I asked.
“How to network with the important people. How to build something.”
I nodded. I was proud of him.
The quiet, stable guy who never wanted attention was suddenly getting somewhere.
Within a year, we bought a house with three bedrooms and a backyard. It was the first step toward the future we’d dreamed of together.
Then, four years into our marriage, he dropped a bomb on me.
We were eating breakfast like any other day when he pushed his plate aside and cleared his throat.
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