The Four Seconds That Cost Me an Hour

There are four seconds of my marriage I would take back before I'd take back almost anything else. Not the hour of shouting that followed them. The four seconds.

I've told that story wrong for about ten years. In my version, Esme was the one who wrecked that night. I had done the mature thing. I had gotten myself out of the room before I said something unforgivable, and she followed me anyway, and everything after that was on her.