I Wanted My Husband to Notice the Full Grocery Bags in My Arms

Dear Delyara, He was sitting on the couch when I came in. Not doing anything terrible. Just there, phone in hand, tired from his own day, probably assuming I had it because I usually do. I stood in the doorway holding three grocery bags cutting into my fingers and waited one extra second before speaking. Some petty little part of me wanted to see if he would look up on his own. Notice. Stand. Reach. He didn’t. So I carried everything into the kitchen myself. One trip. Milk knocking against detergent. Apples bruising against canned beans. My fingers throbbing. He came in three minutes later and asked, “Need help?” And I almost laughed because the moment I needed help had already passed. That’s what I cried about in the shower later: how often I am helped after the hurt, not before it.