Free All the Things We Never Knew by Sheila Hamilton

sweat. Two hours. For two hours, he’d worked himself into a frenzy over traffic.
    â€œIf it bothers you, we can move,” I said softly. “Again.” Even as I said it, I didn’t totally mean it. But it seemed crucial to calm him down. Three moves, two years of marriage. When we first married, we’d both sold our homes, mine a quaint Victorian, and his beautiful bungalow, to buy a larger home together in Laurelhurst, one of the most coveted neighborhoods in Portland. But it was too loud, he said, too disruptive to his sleep. Now this one was wrong, too, the house I loved most, with its plantation-style roof and a sweeping deck that opened onto a beautiful garden, with an apartment below for friends and family who visited. The house was wrong? No. A surge of defiance rose up through me.
    â€œThis is not about the cars, David. It is not about the neighborhood. This is about you. You need help.”
    He dropped his pen and paper on the hardwood floor. “Fuck you,” he said, coldly. “What I need is a beer.” I watched him stomp out the door and through the slush.
    You need a coat , I thought instinctively, and then I caught my own reaction, protecting him even as he abandoned me, again. I stood at the doorway, frozen, unable to speak or move.
    The next morning, David rolled over lazily and cradled me in his arms, as if nothing had happened. I felt my back stiffen against him. I’d brought Sophie into bed with me that night, so exhausted I’d hoped lying with her, rather than rising every time she cried, might make us both happier. My body lived in two worlds: the harmony I felt with Sophie, and the growing disconnect I felt with David.
    As I cradled her, I felt a longing for David, the other half of us.
    â€œLook, I’ve been a jerk lately,” he whispered. “I’m really sorry.” He curled his arm around both Sophie and me. “I am so grateful to you for bringing me Sophie. I have never loved anyone or anything as much in my life. I will try harder for us.” He moved into me breathing, our two bodies connected by this third life, this amazing force between us. His lips touched my spine, soft kisses down the arch of my back, my arms.
    My throat tightened as I turned to kiss him back.
    In the months that passed, David moved in and out of our marriage as if it were a pair of jeans he could wear or put at the back of his closet. Weeks would go by when David was fine, joyful even at the prospect of spending time at home, gardening, or remodeling a bathroom or kitchen. We made love, ate our meals together, and called one another several times during the day. “I’m just thinking of how lucky I am,” he said one day. “And how lost I’d be without my family.”
    Each time it got better, I thought, Okay, we’ve made it. We’re past the tough part . I hung onto those moments of connection,building a case for staying the way Sophie built a pyramid of colored wooden blocks. She was patient, positioning each block so carefully her eyes never left the structure, even as she reached for her next block. It was only when she was smugly satisfied with her work that she swung her arm through the pyramid, crashing it to the ground.
    David’s sense of self-destruction seemed just as impulsive. A phone call or conversation could set him off, his anxiety building to a point that it twisted his face into a new position. A dark, foreboding sense surrounded him, physically and emotionally. He walked around with a hunch, burdened by this mysterious weight, a weight I could neither tap nor explore.
    My life could be so much worse, I rationalized. I love my job. I love this house. Our daughter is healthy. I should be grateful. I look back on those years, wondering along with everyone else how I stayed for so long. The only answers I can come up with involve my own stubborn sense of optimism and my cowardice. I believed David during the good times,