His words stopped my heart.
"Can we take Mom somewhere?" His tone turned pleading. "She's sad here. Maybe she'd be happy if we went out."
I stared at him, speechless. This kid knew his mother was unhappy. So he was trying every way he could think of to fix it. My son was six years old. He shouldn't have to carry this. Everything I'd done—I wasn't just hurting Anthea. I was hurting Olei, too.
"I will... figure something out." The words barely made it out.
Olei didn't push. He looked down at The Little Prince.
"Dad, do you know why the little prince left his rose?"
I shook my head. I'd never heard the story.
"Because he didn't know how to love her." Olei studied the illustration. "He watered her every day. He protected her from the wind. But they still fought. So the little prince left. He visited lots of planets. Then he understood how to love her."
He lifted his head. His eyes were clear as glass.
"Dad, do you love Mom?"
The question drove straight into my chest. Did I really love Anthea? I thought possession was love. Control was love. Keeping her by my side forever was love. But did I even know what love was?
I thought of the way Anthea used to be. Happy, watching the white dahlias. Thrilled on the Ferris wheel under the red sky. Gentle, walking Olei into school.
She'd been so alive. So beautiful. Now she was withering. Because of me. I was destroying her.
What was real love supposed to be?
"Yes." My voice came out firm. "I love her, Olei. She's more important than my own life."
Olei nodded, like he understood.
"Then you should make Mom happy. The little prince went back to his rose. Because he learned how to love her." He smiled. "You should be happy too, Dad. When you're not happy, your face gets really scary. I'm afraid to talk to you."
I froze. Then I laughed—bitter and broken. "I know."
I reached out and touched his soft hair.
"Sleep now," I said. "Tomorrow... everything will get better."
Olei lay down obediently and set the book on his nightstand.
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night."
I turned off the light and closed the door gently.
Then I walked to my study and sat there until dawn.
Outside, the sky shifted from black to deep blue. When the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, I stood and walked to Anthea's room.
She probably hadn't slept all night. When I opened the door, she sat by the window with her back to me, her thin frame fragile in the morning light. She used to have curves. Glowing, honey-toned skin. Now she was so thin I could see the outline of her spine.
I did this.
"Anthea." My voice came out lighter than it ever had. "You can leave."
Her shoulders stiffened. Then she turned slowly, disbelief flooding her eyes. Like she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
