His Private Notes Taught Me Divorce

In our seven years of marriage, the phrase Carl used more than any other was, "I'm busy."

When I was vomiting from morning sickness until I was entirely hollow, he was busy.

When the surgical consent form lay on the clipboard at the hospital and no one was there to sign it, he was busy.

When the car crash ended my pregnancy and I lay bleeding, pleading for him to save me, he was still busy.

And whenever I asked him about our future—about whether we should try again for a baby, or what furniture to buy for our home—he always had a single, indifferent response: "Whatever."