I've come home sad every night this week. And every night, Billy wraps me in his arms while I run through a litany of questions and fears. Tears slip out of my eyes against my will. My mascara has stained his white pillow cases. He kisses my forehead with his soft lips and tells me that he loves me and that everything is going to be okay.
Tonight, he came home to find me perched at his computer. I was typing a diatribe about how my feelings are hurt that none of my coworkers really care that I'm leaving. He shed his coat and knealt before me, kissing my freshly washed face. "Babe, they don't matter anyway. You're going to do so well. A few months from now, it's not going to matter whether they cared or not." He then proceeded to make me laugh harder than I had since last I saw him. I needed the release that the laughter provided. I love that he knew that.
I hate that I'm so sensitive, that I'm taking a simple change in jobs so hard. I hate that he has to come home every night and do damage control.
But I don't know what I'd do without him.