I have been planning tonight for six days.
I have planned every word.
I have written and rewritten the apology in my head until the words no longer mean anything, the way a word loses meaning if you say it too many times. I have stood in front of the mirror in my bathroom this morning and said the first sentence out loud three times. The first sentence is, Anaïs. I am not going to ask you to forgive me.
I have not gotten further than that.
I have not gotten further because the second sentence is the truth, and I have not yet said the truth to myself in plain words, let alone out loud to my wife.
The truth is this.
I married her to ruin her father, and I have fallen in love with her, and I am no longer interested in the ruin. I am interested only in her. I am interested in her in a wa
