My Husband Left Me at 54

« I think you already know, Jane. »

I stood in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, as if my body needed something to hold on to before the rest of me caught up.

My husband finally turned. His eyes did that quick sweep of my hair, face, and the old cardigan I wore around the house, then landed somewhere over my shoulder.

« I think you already know. »

Then he said the words I’d never forget.

« You’re just not beautiful to me anymore. »

I heard the words. I just couldn’t feel them yet.

I looked down at my hands. Dry skin from too many sinks. Chipped nail polish I kept meaning to redo. A wedding ring that suddenly weighed more than the 31 years behind it.

« Is it Paige? » I asked.

He flinched at her name, then squared his shoulders like a man who’d rehearsed this moment.

He said the words I’d never forget.

« Paige is different. She’s, I don’t know, alive. She makes me feel as if I’m not done yet. I’m only 56, Jane. I can’t keep living as if I’m waiting for the end. »

« And what was I doing, Howard? Dying? »