We are on a family vacation of sorts, at a family condo only an hour away from home.
He decided we could share a bed, perhaps to save on using another set of sheets.
I can tell he is asleep from the way he breathes, lying here beside me in the same bed we shared 10 months ago when we got pregnant with Sebastian, in the same bed we shared a year ago when we came without the children to celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary.
There he lies, just within reach, and I long to touch his foot with mine, or put my arm around him, or run my fingers through his hair, as I would have done merely 10 days ago.
But instead, I am extra careful not to even touch him accidentally, almost wishing I had asked him to sleep downstairs instead.
The days are better. He is not depressed and anxious. We talk easily about the children or dinner or finances or politics. He willingly helps with the children, looks for geocaches he can take them to find, plays video games with them. He hugs me and kisses me on the cheek whenever he leaves.
But the nights are lonely. I snuggle with the baby or my sweet 5-year-old to ease the pain.
Night by night it gets easier, but I have moments like this one.
And all I can do is cry.
5 weeks ago