That same day, I packed a suitcase and placed it in the trunk of my car.
I didn’t say a word to Robert.
Not yet.
On Monday morning, the hospital called. The doctor wanted both of us to come in to discuss the final test results.
When I told my husband, he simply gave a brief nod.
We barely spoke during the entire drive.
I looked out the window, remembering our youth, the early years of our marriage, the births of our children, and our family celebrations.
Could all of it really come to an end because of a single test?
Just before we entered the hospital, Robert turned toward me.
“If you have something to confess, now is the time.”
I looked him straight in the eyes.
“I have nothing to confess, Robert.”
He shook his head and walked into the building ahead of me.
A few minutes later, we were sitting across from Dr. Harris.
