“I was constantly worried something might happen while I was at work,” he said.
“So you started treating me as though I couldn’t do anything independently?”
He nodded slowly.
“I know you’ve learned how to manage so much by yourself. But I kept worrying anyway.”
He explained that he’d been sleeping poorly and having difficulty concentrating at work.
By the time he arrived home, he often felt overwhelmed.
Then small things irritated him.
And afterward, he felt guilty for becoming impatient.
“I’d spend hours thinking about how unfair I was being to you,” he admitted.
Tears ran down my cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“Because I didn’t want you to believe your blindness had ruined my life.”
I shook my head.
“But that’s exactly what I started believing.”
His eyes filled.
“Every time you sighed when I asked for something, I felt guilty. Every time you became upset, I wondered whether you still loved me.”
