Cora: Present

Five o’clock traffic was unusually light, or maybe I’d hoped I’d get caught behind a six-car pileup that would take me well into the night. When that hadn’t happened, I pulled in behind James. The drive hadn’t prepared me to have this conversation with my husband—nothing could.

While I sat in my car taking deep, cleansing breaths to keep the anxiety attack at bay, James had gotten out of his and walked toward me. He tapped on the glass with his knuckles. With a silent prayer and a quick deal with God, I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and got out to greet him.

“Hey, babe.” James kissed me the way he did every night when he came home, except normally it was in welcome. Tonight something was off.

“Why are you home so early? Does your head still hurt?” I peered up at my husband, aware my brow was knitted and concern creased my forehead. He wasn’t prone to migraines, but he’d had one last night that put him in bed before the sun went down.