" Her breathing had
become panicky.
"Look, I've got to do my job," he said, irritated now.
She leaned forward with her hands flattened on either side of her
full plate. She didn't care that her gloved left hand was there
for him to contend with. Maybe that was the problem, that she had
never really forced him to deal with it.
"Matthew, I'm all alone. You're all I've got. It's not that I
mind being here all day, but when you come home, it's worse
because then you're here but we're still not together, and on the
weekends, like today, you work all day in the library."
She intended to force him into battle if that was what it took.
But what he did next completely disarmed her: He placed a hand
over hers, the left one, and met her eyes with compassion. She
felt suddenly hopeful. She had finally gotten through to him.
"Greta," he said gently, "everything I'm doing is for us. The
things I'm making happen at work are very complex and important,
and these things will change our lives forever." He patted her
hand and smiled. "Soon it will slow down a little," he said,
tossing down the rest of his wine.
But his words sounded shallow and condescending. Her hopes of
understanding disintegrated and the throb in her left hand
returned with renewed force. She snatched her glass and finished
her wine in one quick swallow.
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