I Went to Return My Neighbor’s Pliers – When He Opened the Door, My Legs Gave Out and I Shouted, ‘What Does It All Mean?!’

“Sounds like…

science,” I muttered. “Let’s do it, Simone.”

It still leaked.

My husband would’ve fixed it. He would have done it quickly, calmly, and without being asked.

But Benjamin was somewhere over the ocean again.

This time it was Sydney or Singapore; he’d stopped correcting me months ago.

I called him anyway, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Come on, Ben,” I muttered. “Where are you when I need you most?”

So, I texted him instead:

“Bathroom’s leaking again, Ben. Miss you.

Can’t wait for you to come back home soon.”

He didn’t read it.

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