Sun rays, the last of the day, break over the horizon as we turn onto our street.

Shadows begin to grow longer as I steer Imogen’s Range Rover toward home, and the frost of a Cape Cod autumn turning to winter chills the air outside. I watch as the temperature gauge drops on the dash.

“Today wasn’t so bad.” I try to begin the conversation jovially.

“Thank you again for accompanying me. Honestly, it was … nice to have you by my side.”

She’s carefully picking her words, where these car rides used to be filled with critiques and laughter about the ridiculousness of a day like today.

“Well, we were by each other’s sides for a long time.” I pull into our driveway.

“And at least we can say that we were a good team for a good while.” She almost smiles, and suddenly fury flares in my stomach.

“But every good thing must come to an end, right?” I stalk out of the car, my switch flipped, my fuse lit.

“I was trying to be nice, Theo! I was trying to be grateful for the good times we gave each other. Why do you always have to be so angry? So moody?”

The tone of her voice, the complete lack of caring that our marriage is dissolving in front of our eyes … it unleashes something in me. I’ve held this beast of rage back as long as I possibly could. I’ve kept my mouth shut for years as she chose her family over me. I was the rock she needed me to be when we lost our baby. I stood by and helped her even as she told me she wanted a divorce.

And finally, it has come to a head. Without thought, the words begin spewing from my mouth.

“You left! You broke the most important vow of all. Being married, making those promises of commitment to each other? That’s all a moot point because you decided to walk out on me. Walk out on us.” My hands shake as I throw them up in the air.

I’m so emotionally pained that I can feel the sorrow slosh through my veins as if it’s replacing my blood. I feel like if she touches me, I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces, I’m so fragile. And that makes me not only sad but enraged. I’m supposed to be the rock of this family, I’m the one who is supposed to dip my head, stick my shoulder out and weather the storm for both of us. But, she’s bypassed me, and I’m the one begging for the life of our relationship.

Imogen’s voice is a whisper as it comes out. “I might be the one who walked out, but what about the other promises we made? To love in sickness and in health? I know you blame me about the baby, about the miscarriage. And the vow about for richer or for poorer? You resent me, Theo. Every day, you resent me for the money I’ve brought to our marriage. You hate our life, and the way my trust fund controls us, and I know you’d never tell me your true feelings for fear of offending me. But I want you to be truthful with me! I am your wife.”

I’m too shocked to think about anything but the one word she’s whispered. “Miscarriage? You think I blame you about the miscarriage?”

Imogen turns away, and I know that when I use two fingers to bring her chin back to face me, I’ll find tears streaming from those clover-green eyes. “I couldn’t give us a baby.”

My stare is so intense, I’m trying to will her to my way of thinking purely by looking at her. “You listen to me and you listen to me right now. I will not say this one more time, so know that I am dead serious. None of this is your fault. None. Of. It. I love you for better or for worse, and that is a vow I will never break. Sometimes, the plans we have for ourselves just don’t agree with the journey this world has set out for us. That’s all that happened, Imogen. I believe that, someday, we’ll come together again. And when that happens, we’ll have a child, one way or another. There is no blame to be had about the miscarriage. Maybe I didn’t convey that at that time, because, well … I was just as devastated as you were. But Imogen, I in no way … I can’t even say blame. There is no reason to say that. That happened to both of us. And all I wanted you to feel was loved and comforted. I’m sorry if I didn’t do that well enough.”

Tears, made up of the things we’ve lost, carve paths down and over her gorgeous cheek bones. “And the money?”

I sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Because I can’t lie to her, not when we’re putting it all out on the table.

“You’re right. I hate it. I hate that you have money, and I don’t. This has nothing to do with your success as a woman, or that I want to be the breadwinner. I simply hate that your family and what they do and their standing in the world influences every corner of our lives. Our house, my job, the events we have to attend … all of it. It all leads back to their bribery and status. We’ve never had the chance to just make it on our own. We never had the choice to live where we pleased or carve out career paths that we enjoyed. I want to go to dinner with you and not have anyone know my wife’s name, so that we can relax and order cheap wine or leave the kind of tip the waiter deserves. Instead, we have an image to uphold. We have to try the most expensive bottle or rumors will be spread by the waitstaff, something like Imogen Weston Walsh drinks un-aged reds. It’s so stupid, Immy, I can hardly stand it.”

“You knew that this was the way it had to be when you married me.” She looks betrayed.

I try to make her see. “Yes, I did. But I thought you would fight a little more for us. For how we wanted our life to be, not just how a Weston should be. I love you for exactly who you are, but you did not marry a Weston. You married a Walsh.”

“You could have spoken up.” Imogen takes her chin out of my hand, buzzing with annoyance.

“I would sacrifice everything for you. That’s what marriage is.” I shrug.

“So you’re saying I haven’t sacrificed?”

“I’m not saying you haven’t made some huge changes for us and lost a lot. I know how much your heart has broken. But come on, Imogen … has your life changed all that much since I came into it? We live where you want to, vacation and spend our downtime doing what you want to. We spend time with your family, I work a job I hate so that they can tolerate having a blue-collar fraud infiltrate them.”

Imogen points a finger at me. “I gave up my family’s company. I agreed to let my stake go to be with you. Some would call that giving up my rightful place for love.”

“If they loved you as much as I do, they wouldn’t make you choose.” I smile ruefully.

“You don’t get it. You’ve never gotten it.”

“Maybe I haven’t,” I agree, a sad smile painting my lips.

I can’t have this fight anymore. As it is, we’re already over. So I grab the keys to my bike, knowing that it will piss her off that I’m going out in the dark, and sling a jacket over my shoulders.

“Don’t you ride that thing in the pitch black!” Her temper is unraveling.

“What do you care what I do, anymore, Im? Huh? Are you going to stop me?”

She stands there, her hands balling up into fists and then releasing. Her breathing ragged. But … she does nothing.

“Didn’t think so.” I slam the door on my way out, making sure that my engine and wheels make extra noise as I peel out of the driveway.