We used to eat together

Late, and writing anyway.

He does the injection. I look at the wall. It is one of the more tender things in our life and I would not have predicted that.

Told him. It went better than she expected and she wrote 1,200 words about it.

Asked him to stop commenting. He was hurt, then relieved. It went better than the version I had rehearsed.

We used to eat together and now we do not, and that turns out to have been more of the marriage than either of us noticed.

He is finding this harder than I expected and neither of us has said so out loud. I am going to say so out loud.

Better tomorrow, probably.