He noticed the edge in me before the children had to meet it

Dear Delyara, I was still moving around the kitchen. Still answering. Still functioning. Still technically fine enough to anybody who wasn’t really looking. But inside I could feel that dangerous brittleness that comes after a day with too much sound, too much contact, too much emotional labour, too little room. The one where one more innocent question can come back sharper than the person asking deserved. He saw it. He took over the next practical thing without turning my tiredness into a discussion. He stepped in before I became someone I didn’t want to be for five minutes out of pure depletion. That made me feel protected in a very adult, very real way. Not saved. Read.