“I want you to call me out when I stop.”

“I have been.”

He winced.

“I know.”

Then he nodded.

“I guess I need to start listening before you reach the point where you have to force me to listen.”

“That would help.”

He gave a small smile.

Then his expression became serious again.

“I need to talk to my mom too.”

“Yes.”

“I need to be the one who does it.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve let her become a problem in our  marriage because confronting her makes me uncomfortable.”

I looked at him.

“And I’ve been choosing my comfort over your reality.”

He paused.

“That’s what I’ve been doing.”

Every time he said:

She means well.

Every time he ignored something Sylvia said.

Every time he asked me to let it go.

Every time he avoided an uncomfortable conversation because avoiding it was easier for him.

He had been choosing comfort.

“I’m going to call her later.”

“After June’s next temperature check.”

“Okay.”

Then he asked something I didn’t expect.

“Why didn’t you just let me leave?”

I looked at him.