My Husband Laughed at the Anniversary Dinner I Spe…

“That was thoughtful,” I said, eyes on my screen.

I meant it. Small mercies again. We ate in silence at the island.

He kept glancing at me, clearly waiting for me to ask about his day, to step into my usual role as conversational host. I let the silence stretch. After dinner, he cracked open a beer and settled on the couch in front of a basketball game.

I picked up my laptop and went upstairs to the spare bedroom. We’d always called it “the guest room,” though hardly anyone stayed over. Over the past year, I’d quietly been converting it into a home office—bookshelves, a desk, a small couch.

Derek had called it my “little cave” in that half-teasing, half-put-down way of his. I closed the door, sat at the desk, and opened a spreadsheet. Column A: Date.

Column B: Incident description. Column C: Witnesses present. Column D: Financial impact.

Column E: Emotional harm category. Petty? Maybe.