Grant leans in and releases my hair from a ponytail. He tosses the hair tie onto the bathroom counter and then meets my eye. “I missed you today,” he says, as he runs his hands through my hair, fanning it out.

I study my reflection in the mirror behind him.

“All those women and you know what?”

I offer up a blank stare. It’s best to let him tell me. That’s how this game works.

He smirks, and I can see why my husband is so good with the women he’s just mentioned. “I couldn’t wait to get home to you…” he tells me. “You are so beautiful, Josie.”

I lean forward and throw my arms around him. He makes me believe, even as he’s adjusting my appearance to suit his tastes.

“Wow,” he says. “It’s good to know you feel the same way.” He’s playing smug, but I can see the exhaustion on his face. I can hear the weariness in his tone. Or maybe that’s just what I want to hear. Maybe I want to know he’s every bit as worn out as I am. Maybe if that were the case, we could slow things down a little.

I pull away and search his eyes. He looks like he used to back in residency, when the days were long, and the pay was little. Only now—the circles underneath his eyes are more apparent—the wrinkle between his brow more pronounced. Time has its way of doing that. I reach up and run my finger along the crease to smooth it out. You’d think as a plastic surgeon, that he might take care of any sign of aging. But not Grant. He says it makes him look wiser, more capable. He isn’t wrong.

“Thank you for working so hard for us,” I say to him, and I mean it. Despite everything that’s happened, this is true. It has to be. That’s why it works. I keep the emotions real.

He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then he takes my forearms in his hands and squeezes. This is what our life has become, I think. Stolen moments. Bittersweet truths. He glances around me toward the door. “The kids in bed?”

“Yes,” I tell him, knowing what he wants. This time I want it too.

“Perfect. Let’s have a bath.”

I don’t want to undress in front of him. I’m afraid he’ll know what I’ve done. In my mind, I imagine that he’ll see the grease from those potato chips glistening on my thighs.

“I’m a plastic surgeon,” he told me once after Avery was born. “It’s my job to notice small subtleties. What kind of doctor would I be if I couldn’t calculate exact measurements on sight?” I was having a hard time getting back in shape. It’s the only time he’s asked me to go under the knife. He knows I’m terrified of needles. This, in and of itself, was enough to push me in the right direction.

That’s when I learned the secrets of dropping weight quickly. They want you to believe that veggies and exercise will do the trick. And maybe they’re right. But starving yourself is easier. Also, if given the choice between broccoli and nothing, I’d just as soon go with nothing.

“In you go,” he orders once the tub is half full. He eyes me from head to toe. “You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” I say, but I don’t immediately budge. I don’t want to undress. I’m hoping he’ll leave me, even though I know he won’t.

“I was thinking,” he tells me. He’s sitting on the side of the tub, removing his cufflinks. “That maybe it’s time to update this bathroom.”

I watch as he unbuttons his shirt. It was a clinical day, which means he spent most of the day alternating between consultations and follow-ups. It’s surgery my husband prefers, and already I know the kind of day he had will make him edgy, restless.

“A remodel?” My husband likes to keep me occupied. He likes to ensure I don’t have a moment of peace.

“It’s a bit dated, don’t you think?”

I laugh. “This bathroom is less than five years old…”

“Yes, but things move faster these days. Plus, we can afford it, and it’d be nice to have a change of scenery—tell me you disagree.”

“No,” I say, glancing around the space. “I see your point.”

“Beth said the clubhouse looks absolutely stunning.”

My face reddens. There’s something about Beth knowing that I’ve spent the greater part of my day scrubbing floors that bothers me. What bothers me worse is that my husband has spoken to her about it. I’m careful not to let it show, because I know if I can keep him talking, if I can keep the mood light, then it will divert attention away from other things. “I’m glad she liked it.”

I begin to undress. “How was your day?”

“Tiring,” he tells me. “But good. Next month will be a busy one.”

I raise my brow. My husband’s business is booming most of the year. Just before the holidays, even more so. People rush in to have their inadequacies tweaked before they have to face them at family gatherings.

“Wonderful.”

He gives me the once over, but I can see his mind is elsewhere. “I was thinking we should get away soon,” he mentions without looking at me. “I think you need it.”

“A remodel and a vacation,” I say jokingly. He cocks his head to the side. “That sounds like a great idea,” I tell him, but as the words ooze out into the space between us, I can see we both know it’s a lie. I signed an agreement prohibiting this. I wait for him to remind me. He doesn’t. Not now. It probably helps that I’m naked and bath water doesn’t ask permission to turn cold.

He motions me forward, and then steps in after me. We take our usual positions, him in back, me facing opposite, the back of my head resting against his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t being honest with me, Josie?”

“I am being honest. I think a vacation sounds like a great idea.”

He smooths the hair on my head. He runs his fingers through it. He always finds the knots. “And yet?”

“And yet—the very idea of putting it all together feels overwhelming. Especially now. We have a lot going on. The kids have a lot going on…”

“It sounds like I come in last on that list of yours.”

I shake my head. “You don’t.”

He yanks the knot loose. I flinch. He cups my breast. Satisfied, his hand trails lower. I’m not in the mood but it won’t change things. “Prove it,” he says, pushing my head down, and so I do.

“Is there something bothering you?” Grant asks as I towel off.

My eyes water. “No. Why?”

“You just didn’t seem as enthusiastic as you normally are.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I don’t think you’re taking good enough care of yourself Jos—”

I shrug. It’s the wrong move and I instantly realize the mistake. My husband doesn’t like nonchalance.

“Step on the scale,” he motions. “I think we should take a look.”

My eyes dart toward the mirror. “It’s not time for my weigh-in…”

“I’m worried about you,” he says. Clearly, he’s going to call my bluff. “I know you have a lot on your plate.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Yes, but preventative care is the most important kind.”

I stand there for a moment, hands at my sides. We’re eye to eye, toe to toe. Tears prick my eyelids but I refuse to let him see me cry. “I’m not one of your patients, Grant.”

“I know. You’re my wife,” he says, resting his hand on my lower back motioning me forward. “The most important thing in my whole world.”

Eventually, I step on the scale.

“Hmmm,” he murmurs, reading the number. “You’re ten ounces over.”

I throw my head back, stare at the ceiling, and then let out a long heavy sigh.

He seems to think for a moment, but it’s an act, he knows just what he wants to say. He’s making me sweat it out. Finally, he exhales loudly. “But then, your period is coming soon.”

“Like I said, I’m fine.” I step off the scale and glare at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m just retaining water.”

He rubs at his jaw and then stops abruptly. He runs his hands over my body. He’s inspecting me the way he does his patients. I stand there, naked and humiliated. Finally, he stops and takes a step back. “I want you to see Beth tomorrow. She tells me you aren’t sleeping, which is interesting…”

I slip my robe on. “I’m fine, Grant.”

He grabs my forearm and looks me directly in the eye. “I mean, to have to learn about my wife’s sleeping habits from Beth?”

“It was just an excuse I came up with on the fly. You know how Beth is. Always making mountains out of molehills.”

“Yes, I do know how Beth is,” he tells me condescendingly. “She and I both agree an audit would do you good.”

“I don’t need an audit.”

“Don’t question me, Josie. Not after this.” He points toward his dick and then he looks up at me. “You know how hard I work for us, and the best you can offer at the end of a long day is a mediocre performance and obstinance?”

I swallow hard.

“You know I’m not supposed to talk about these things but…you need to know this…you’re sponsoring Tom’s new wife for a reason. I need to know you understand what’s at stake here, Josie.”

I think long and hard about what I’m going to say next, and I steady my tone before I speak. “You’re right,” I say. “I understand.” And in that moment, I think I’m beginning to.