Paradoxical

Norman whimpered atop the kitchen table. “I don’t think you could handle the truth, if I told you.”

Agnes’s heart went frozen. She knew the truth, really had known it all along, ever since that far-off St. Patrick’s they’d chosen for elopement. Even then, she knew this day would come. Every argument they had, every disagreement over furniture and drapes and windows … and the children … she knew it would all lead to this.

Norman began to sob. Odd, the man who accepted responsibility for his job, his money couldn’t aldmit to what he wanted. He took responsibility for everything in his life – but he couldn’t bring himself to speak honestly with his wife.

“Would it help, Norman,” Agnes said, “if I told you that I already know the truth? It’s obvious to look at you. You don’t want to be married to me any longer.”

At these words his sobs rose into a high-pitched tenor. She’d never heard him cry like this, not at his father’s funeral, not when he’d been stabbed, not even when he lost his job.

“Nothing about it,” he said, choking on the words one at a time, “has made me the least bit happy. I never wanted the responsibility of a family. And I can’t continue doing this, not now, not ever.”