My husband, Ryan, worked in finance and had been, by every visible measure, the doting father-to-be. He rubbed my feet at night. He’d assembled the second crib on a Saturday in April after I’d asked him about it for three weeks straight. And he’d done it with his jaw set the whole time, as if he were doing taxes.
My friends kept telling me I’d hit the jackpot.
« You picked a good one, » Rachel said on the phone one night.
« I know, » I told her. « I really did. »
He rubbed my feet at night.
Still, there were things I noticed and immediately talked myself out of noticing.
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