I tense, staring at Fitz as he slips on a pair of pajama bottoms, stretching his arms above his head. August 6 is Fitz’s first preseason game down in Tampa. I try to do the math, but I know it’ll be next to impossible to get to kick off in time. My heart sinks. I’ve waited weeks for Camden to come up to Boston to meet with me and Abby, and now? Now I’m screwed because my wifely duties will be compromised by trying to do the right thing. And maybe, I might’ve felt different about that weeks ago. But now? I want to show up for and support my husband. I also need to do the right thing. It’s just not the easy thing, especially after such a wonderful weekend.

It might’ve not been a mini-honeymoon. But it was everything we needed. We might’ve stayed out too late at the dance and had to stay horizontal most of the next day, but Fitz and I found something during this weekend—each other.

“Italian?” Fitz asks. “I’ll order now.”

“Sure.” I wait for him to leave before returning my attention to my phone.

You’ll need to come to me.

I’d feel more comfortable meeting Cam at home than I would in public, and I’m sure Abby would too. She deserves to be heard in this. But before I tell her to mark it in her calendar, I have to do one thing. It just happens to be one hard thing I can’t quite explain over dinner, which I just push around my plate an hour later.

“If you’re not hungry, I haven’t worked you out hard enough,” Fitz says, playfully palming my ass as he walks by me in the kitchen.

I put away the carbonara I’ve hardly touched into Tupperware while he rinses our plates at the sink. Snapping the lid closed, I take a deep breath, watching him load the dishwasher. This weekend felt so magical and easy and normal. My heart pounds against my chest as my stomach twists with nerves. Part of me is dying to tell Fitz everything, but I don’t want to burden what the light air between me and Fitz with heaviness. That’s putting it mildly. I once thought my past was heavy. Now, it’s like a dead weight.

I carry that deadweight into the bedroom, changing into pajamas and then using the bathroom when Fitz is done to brush my teeth. When I finish, he’s already in bed, relaxed but wide eyed.

“Come here.”

Fitz’s lazy smile calls to me. I want to. So much. I want to crawl into bed, nuzzle myself against his chest, and forget absolutely all of this.

But I can’t. Because Sarah looked out for me. And I have to look out for her.

Fitz pushes up on his elbow. “What’s going on?”