It's 6pm. The chicken is taking longer to cook than expected. The potatoes are almost overdone. My beer is sitting on the table getting warm in front of me, I think I opened it about two hours ago. My crying son only wants me. I am dicing tomatoes for my husband who is covering his bloody finger in bandages. From down the street a neighbor walks over for a haircut...but not from me. A lump appears in my throat as my chest gets heavy and eyes threaten to leak. I continue dicing tomatoes, fighting all these things, trying to hide any hint of being even just a little upset. I don't know why I bother, G can always tell, especially when my face looks bunched up as I'm sure it did. After about three denials that something was wrong, a tear finally burst free and I crumbled into a mess in my husbands arms. I was barely 19 when I graduated school and was officially set on my career path. Now I've been in my field for nearly 8yrs. For a typical woman my age, it is unusu