Then he started crying. In nine years of marriage, I had seen Evan cry exactly twice.
« I don’t want you carrying all of this, » he told me. « But I don’t know what else to do. »
Neither did I.
So we did what I thought married people were supposed to do.
Evan quit his job.
And I took over everything, including the mortgage, groceries, insurance, his prescriptions, and the bills from what he called his « specialist. »
When our checking account started running low, I transferred money from the savings account my grandmother had left me.
When that wasn’t enough, I started working Saturdays.
I was ready to do everything.
For almost four months, my entire life revolved around keeping us afloat while Evan got better.
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