Forty-two, she thought. Where has the time gone?

Turning off the bathroom light, Meg crawled under the covers on her side of the bed and faced Jack, who was still reading through his papers. She watched him read, knowing it’d be historical research on a project he’d been hired to do, or wanted to do. Jack loved his research. Lived for historical accuracy. And that was something she loved about him. He was so smart. And dedicated to excellence.

“You really wouldn’t mind if I went to London, then?” she asked, stretching a hand out to touch his chest beneath the covers. Her hand trailed down his stomach to the waistband of his pajama pants.

Jack reached under the covers to stop her hand. “Of course not. Why would I?”

She slowly drew her hand back, telling herself she didn’t mind, that she wasn’t being rejected. “The kids are so busy—baseball, dance, horse stuff.”

“We have sitters who already drive them to their after-school activities.”

Meg suppressed a sigh, aware that it wasn’t quite that simple. Someone had to tell those sitters when to come, where to be, and how to get there. Someone had to greet the sitters and pay them and talk about homework and meals and possible problems. But that person wasn’t Jack. After nearly sixteen years of parenting, he still thought babysitters just magically appeared—babysitter storks dropping them off fully screened, trained, and prepared on the doorstep. Ha!

Meg smashed the pillow closer to her cheek, watched Jack read. “I know the college girls can get the kids to where they need to be, but when they have a game, the kids want us there—”

“And I’ll be there.” Jack pushed up his reading glasses to the top of his head, making his hair fluff at his crown and ears. “It’s not as if you’re going to be gone for weeks. It’s what? Five days? Six?”

“Probably.”

He set his papers on the nightstand and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Meg, the kids are ten, twelve, and fifteen. We can survive a week without you.”

She caught his face with her hand and kissed his lips.

Tonight she wanted more. Wanted touch. Connection. She tried to deepen the kiss, but he didn’t respond. Her lips went soft against his, but nothing. It was a very married kiss. A very practical, comfortable kiss. And usually it was enough.

She’d learned that it had to be enough.

But tonight…tonight she felt alone and lonely.

Oblivious, Jack rolled away to turn off the lamp next to the bed. “Stop worrying so much,” he said as their bedroom went black.

But that was the problem, she thought, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.