“I know. It’s okay.” I offered him a tiny smile. “I had a candy bar at the hospital.”

I chewed and chewed, the steak like gristle in my mouth. “John.” I swallowed. “Do you remember Carl Stewart?”

“No. Should I?”

“His family owns a farm on the other side of town. Organic produce?”

“There was a Dwayne Stewart came in last month looking for a new truck. To haul a camper, he said.”

I nodded eagerly. “That would be Carl’s father. His parents are retiring, and Carl is looking for someone to take over the books for the farm.” I peeked across the table, searching for his reaction. “I was thinking maybe I could do it. Help them out.”

John lowered his fork. “You want to go back to work?”

“Not full-time,” I said. “Less than twenty hours a week, Carl said.”

“I thought you were busy.”

“I am. But this would be something different.” Something I was good at. My heart pounded. “And the money would be nice, with Christmas coming.”

His face froze, his jaw hardening in a way I knew well.

“Not that we need the money,” I added hastily.

John frowned at his plate. “Who would watch the kids?”

“I’d work from home.”

He looked up. His deep-brown eyes held mine. “Whatever you want,” he said quietly.

Making it my decision. My responsibility. Part of me was grateful for his support. And another, smaller part wondered if this was a test.

“What do you want?” I asked.

John shook his head. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

I sucked in my breath. “That’s a terrible thing to say.” Even if it was true. Maybe especially if it was true.

He saw my face, and his own expression changed. “Christ, Meg, don’t look like that. I just meant . . . I took this job so you would have a choice. I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

My stomach clenched. He worked so hard. Especially in the beginning, when he still worked on the sales floor, on commission. I didn’t regret those sleep-deprived days, when we were both bleary-eyed and exhausted, when John put in sixty-hour weeks to prove himself at the dealership, and I stumbled out of bed every hour to breastfeed the twins. But I wondered sometimes if he regretted leaving teaching, if he missed the autonomy of his classroom, his authority as a coach, the adulation of his team. It didn’t help that his boss, Trey, was the owner’s grandson and three years younger than John.

He’d taken the job at the dealership for us. For me. So that I could stay home full-time. So that we could give our babies the childhood he’d never had, with no financial worries and their mother’s full-time attention.

The last thing I wanted was for him to think I didn’t appreciate his sacrifice.

We finished dinner in silence.

Five years ago, I knew exactly what I wanted.