let myself go.
So I tried harder. I bought a jogging stroller and ran with June in the mornings before work. I stopped eating bread. I bought new clothes. I asked him if I looked nice.
He’d shrug.
“You look fine.”
Then, one night about eighteen months ago, he sat me down at the kitchen table.
The girls were asleep. He’d poured himself a glass of wine. Not one for me.
“Hannah,” he said. “I need to be honest with you.”
I waited.
“I’m not attracted to you anymore.”
I just looked at him. I didn’t understand the words at first. They didn’t make sense.
“What?”
“I’m not attracted to you. I haven’t been for a while.” He swirled his wine. “I’ve tried. I really have. But I can’t force it.”
“Max. I just had a baby.”
“June is almost a year old.”
“I’m working on it. I’ve been running.
