The fracture doesn’t start with yelling.
It starts with exhaustion.
By mid-September, life is too full.
Grad school readings stack up like bricks on my desk. The foundation expansion demands weekly flights to Chicago and Atlanta. The community center requires constant oversight. Zara’s college applications loom.
And Marcus—
Marcus is stretched thin in a way I haven’t seen in over a year.
It’s subtle at first.
He forgets to eat.
Skips therapy one week because of a board emergency.
Answers emails during dinner.
Wakes up at three in the morning and doesn’t come back to bed.
“You’re spiraling,” I say one night when he’s still on his laptop at 11:47 p.m.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I have two acquisitions closing. If I don’t handle them personally, we lose leverage.”
“You said you
