Emily sat down across from him on a little settee covered in plush velvet. The idea of telling him this story, of sharing it, made her panic. He was such a good person, so straight-edged. He never drank before he turned twenty-one, never smoked or took any medication that didn’t come with a prescription. She hated how this story made her look. It didn’t feel like her anymore. It felt like a story she’d read about a person she’d once known. And there was no rule that said married couples had to share everything. There were stories in her past that Ezra didn’t know—and stories in his past she was sure she didn’t know. His first kiss, for example; she had no idea who it was with. Or why he chose to do his residency in California, so far away from his parents. He got to keep those stories; she got to keep hers. “My story is my story, Ezra. It’s mine to share when I want.”

He looked like she’d slapped him. She hadn’t realized what she said would sound that way, would make him react like that. She was usually better at reading him than this, but she felt like ever since the miscarriage, her sensors were off. Maybe she was too focused on herself, on how she felt.

“You don’t want to share your story with me? You haven’t wanted to share your story with me before?” He loosened his tie, looking like it might be choking him.

Emily’s head felt fuzzy from the wine, but not fuzzy enough that she couldn’t think straight. Still, she opened up a bottle of water sitting on the table next to her and took a sip. “You didn’t want to share what happened at work today with me,” she pointed out as she recapped the bottle. Logic usually worked with him. “There are some things you don’t tell me, either.”

“It’s not the same,” he said.

“Isn’t it?” she asked.

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “What happened when you were twenty, Emily? Why won’t you talk about it?” Then his face looked stricken. “Did someone— Oh, Em, did someone—”

“No,” Emily said quickly. “Not that. Thank God, not that.”

“Then what?” Ezra’s eyes were filled with emotion; his concern for her was there, even through his anger, his hurt.

Emily took a deep breath. When he looked at her like that, like she was someone so precious, someone he cared for more than anyone, her heart always grew a little; it swelled with her love for him. And that swelling of love made her feel strong enough, sure enough of him, to overcome her worry. Besides, he’d asked. She’d never kept anything from him when he’d asked.