You get the crumbs. I’m so sorry. 

Some nights I listen to you breathe evenly, and I think about waking you up. I touch your back so lightly.

You don’t even know. 

You have to wake up for work soon. I can’t let myself wake you up. But I might. 

I think about it.

My pants won’t zip, and I throw myself onto the couch crying. “Emily…don’t you know you’re so beautiful? You are my wife and I love you.”

“No. I’m not, Keith. Not anymore. I’m so fat and tired and I don’t have time to…anything!”

“Don’t talk about my wife that way! You feel that? THAT says–I think you’re sexy.”

I wish I could be the woman you deserve all the time. I cut off a piece of me for this daughter, that daughter, for this activity, for that activity…and you get the crumbs.

God, help me build the wisdom to tell others no, and to tell my husband yes. I am your piece of cake. Yes. Let me remind you. Yes. I don’t need these pants. Yes. 

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