PART 1
Soren and I had been married eleven years, and I had spent every one of them sharing him with that hospital.
He is a gifted surgeon. I was proud that my husband saved lives for a living, and I have said that sentence at about forty dinner parties in a particular voice.
But over the past year I had started wrapping his dinner before I even sat down to eat my own.
There is a specific moment I keep. Standing at the counter with cling film in one hand at twenty past seven, before I had touched my own plate, because I already knew.
He missed Thanksgiving. He missed our anniversary, the twelfth, which he has never missed.
He missed our daughter’s eighth birthday, and she asked me at bedtime whether Daddy had forgotten or whether somebody was very ill.
I said somebody was very ill.
