“I go to work every day,” I said calmly, brushing off his concern. He didn’t know how hard it was for me to even sit in the driver’s seat of my car.

“You don’t talk to me,” he said. “Maybe you should see someone. If you can’t talk to me, maybe you could talk to a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” I replied. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink.”

Ignoring the sadness in his eyes, I edged around him and walked back to our room. I couldn’t take on his sadness. Didn’t he see that? I was barely functioning with my own. I went to bed and didn’t wake up until the next afternoon.

My husband continued to talk to me, telling me random things about his day, what his mom had told him on the phone, and whatever food he’d brought for dinner, but he didn’t expect responses, and I didn’t give him any. His last day in the Army was the following week, and even though I knew that the change was going to be difficult for him, I didn’t bring it up. I didn’t initiate any conversations anymore. I didn’t go to his going-away party, either.

I’d curled into myself like a potato bug, hiding all my soft parts behind a hard outer shell. It was the only way I could make it through each day. I knew how bad I was hurting Alex; I could feel it chipping at me a little more each time we spoke, but I couldn’t seem to stop. He was so good, so steady and strong, that I was afraid that the minute I let him back in, I’d completely fall apart because I knew he’d be there to catch me. I couldn’t let that happen. I was terrified to let go of my tightly held emotions.

It was two and a half weeks postaccident when the quiet little world I’d built was flipped on its axis. I woke up midafternoon to voices I knew very well.

“Sarai Levy,” my aunt scolded as she strode into my room. “Get out of bed.” She went to the window and opened the curtains wide.

“No,” I murmured, pulling a pillow over my head.

I hadn’t seen my aunt and uncle in person for over a year, and I hadn’t seen them on a computer screen in months, but I felt nothing. Blankness. I wasn’t sad or happy, excited or disappointed. I was just existing.

“Sarai,” my aunt said softly, realizing that her scolding had no effect. She crawled onto my bed and lay down so that our faces were level. “I’ve missed you so much.”