Chapter 89 A Wife's Role

• I’ve never been one for makeup at home. Yet here I sit at my vanity, staring at bruises that have darkened overnight into deep purples and blues. The concealer feels heavy in my hand, foreign—like so many things in this life.
• Last night, Efrem slipped into bed well past midnight and was gone before dawn, leaving nothing but cold sheets and lingering cologne. Our usual dance when things go wrong: avoid, pretend, move on.
• Although, I suppose I can’t be upset about it. I asked for time and space, and true to form, he’s giving me exactly what I requested.