Her red-lipped smile takes a sudden detour. She straightens the wrinkles in her pants with a brisk swipe. “No, Marnie. There’s no easy way to explain this, but you love Ashe, so I know you’ll understand.”

My heart drops like an untethered elevator crashing to the bottom floor. “Understand what?”

“I put him on the plane to Jamaica an hour ago, he and Tyler,” she says, locking eyes with me in that painfully direct way she does that reads: I’m Cora the Conquerer. Never question me or my power.

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s put up a good front for you, Marnie, but he’s a mess. He needs to get away, clear his head. He didn’t want to go, but I insisted. So, if you’re upset, it should be with me. Not him.”

“I’m not upset.” And I’m not. I twiddle my engagement ring around my finger, feeling sad, disappointed, not surprised. More people to disappoint you. “Nonrefundable tickets. I get it.”

“Yes, but that’s not why. It’s for his mental health, Marnie. That’s why I told him to go.”

“He seemed fine yesterday,” I argue lightly, offended by how quickly she plays the mental health card. It’s not that I don’t buy it—mental health is as important, if not more important, than physical health, and anyone can be struck by such difficulties at any time, like bold and debilitating lightning bolts. I know that better than most people.

But Ashe has never been to therapy, never known the throes of a panic attack or agonized over getting out of bed. He’s never known a bad day. And I was once privy to a discussion between him and his mom over “acceptable uses” of paid time off, and they both agreed that mental health “didn’t count.”

I argued until we reached a rare compromise, calling all leave personal time off, no matter the reason. And, whatever the case, the employee should not be required to explain.

“For you, he’s fine. But he isn’t. At home, he’s different. You understand how much he wanted this.”

Her words hang there like dangling hooks, baiting me. Latching on would mean pointing out that he’s not the only one grieving, asking why he isn’t himself with me, and debating the obvious cruelty of his leaving. How could he abandon me like this, barely able to walk or eat or even breathe? After he promised?

But that’s what people close to me do. They abandon.

And getting upset isn’t a reaction I can afford.