Except then I heard the click of the door shutting between our room and Ree’s sleeping area. Another rasp as he tended the chain lock on the main door.

Then the bed sagged as he returned to me, stretching out beside me. I opened my eyes to discover my husband of five years looking down at me. His dark eyes were no longer so calm, no longer inscrutable. He appeared nervous, maybe even shy.

But he said, in that calm voice I knew so well, “May I kiss you, Sandra?”

I nodded yes.

My husband kissed me, slowly, carefully, sweetly.

I finally figured out that my husband had heard me the other night. He wasn’t trying to kill me. He was granting me a second child instead.

There are things you always wished you had known sooner versus later. If you had spoken up earlier, before the lie grew too big. Or if you had braved the conversation in the beginning, before by its very omission it became too much to handle.

I had sex with my husband. Or rather, we had sex with each other. And it was slow, delicate, careful. Five years later, we still had to learn the feel of each other’s bodies, the way one gasp meant I had done something well, and another gasp meant it was time to ease back.

I had the impression that of the two of us, I was the one with more experience. Yet it was important for him to take the lead. If I pushed too hard, moved too fast, it would be over. A switch would be thrown and we’d be right back where we had started, strangers who shared a bed.

So I let his fingers dance across my skin, while discovering the lean outline of his ribs beneath my fingers, the ripple of muscle on his sides, the taut feel of his butt. There were indentations across his back, markings of some kind. But if I tried to touch them, he drew back, so I contented myself with threading my fingers through the light whorls of hair on his chest, the broad, solid feel of his shoulders.

I reveled in the feel of his body, and hoped he found some kind of satisfaction in mine. Then he loomed between my legs and I parted them gratefully, arching my hips, taking him into me. At the first moment of penetration, maybe I cried out, maybe I had wanted him that much.

Then he was moving, and I was moving, and we didn’t have to be careful anymore and we didn’t have to be awkward anymore. Everything was as it should be and it all felt right