That very first day of pet ownership, when they were sitting in the living room talking in new, goofy voices, professing their love for Pebbles, Lauren spoke without thinking.

“I’m so glad we got her, Josh! That way when I die, you won’t be alone.”

The air changed. The puppy, who was gnawing on Lauren’s fingers, stopped and looked at Josh, head tilted.

Oh, shit.

His face was stone. Jaw clenched, cheekbones looking ready to cut through his skin, and then a redness seemed to pulse out of him toward her. “This fucking dog is not going to outlive you, Lauren!”

She jumped, because she had never heard him yell before, and for a second, she thought it was someone else. But nope, it was her husband.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t you ever say something so stupid again! What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you say that?”

“I—I—uh . . .”

“How do you not see it?” he yelled, and his voice was scary. “Don’t you ever, ever say something like that again!” He stood up, went to the door and punched the wall next to it, so hard his fist went right through the Sheetrock, and he did it again, and again.

“Honey! Stop! Stop!” Lauren said, running over to him. When she touched his back, he jerked open the door and flew down the stairs. She ran to the window and saw him disappear around the corner.

The puppy was whining. She gathered the little dog against her chest and took a few shaking breaths, heart roiling and churning in a sick, panicked way. There were bloody streaks on the wall. From his hand. From his fist.

She had never seen him like this before.

She closed the door to the hallway and locked it, then slid down to sit on the floor. Tears were streaming out of her eyes.

What should she do? He was almost pathologically even tempered. She didn’t even know he could get angry, let alone at her. In their entire marriage, they’d had one fight, when he didn’t want to go to her office Christmas party because it was too loud and crowded. She said they could leave early, or that he could just come in with her and stay for ten minutes and leave her and she’d get a ride home with someone else, but he wouldn’t budge. She’d gone herself, and sulked for the next day, punishing him. This man gave workshops to hundreds of people, after all. He had gone to three colleges where there were many people and noises.

He brought her flowers the next day and apologized. Came to Mara’s holiday party a few days later.

But nothing, nothing like this. She had never been scared of him, or his anger, ever. She didn’t really know he’d been capable of it.

She sniffed, wiped her eyes on her sleeve and kissed Pebbles’s little head. The puppy answered with a snore.

Lauren debated calling Steph to ask if this had ever happened, but didn’t want to put his mother in the middle. Instead, she went to Google and typed in a few words: Asperger’s, autism, anger, loss of control.

And then, after she’d read a few articles that seemed to describe what had just happened to a T, she looked up “anger when your spouse is terminally ill.”

Then she called her sister and told her everything.

“Oh, honey,” Jen said when she was done. “Can you blame him?”

“It was scary,” Lauren said, wiping her eyes.

“Were you afraid he’d hurt you?”

“No! No, of course not. It was just so shocking. Like he went Incredible Hulk on me.”

“He’s probably repressed a lot of shit. Do you guys talk about . . . oh, fuck, now I’m crying, too. Do you talk about everything, Lauren?”

“Sort of? We have. I just didn’t expect . . . this.”

“You struck a nerve.” She swallowed loudly. “And if the statistics are right, you were saying the truth.” Jen drew in a shuddering breath. “That fucking dog may well outlive you. I think I want to punch a wall now, too.”

“What do I do about Josh? I don’t even know where he went. I hope he’s talking to Ben. I hope Ben kicks his ass, quite frankly.”

“I think you should probably just . . . cut him some slack, Lauren. He loves you so much. You’re his whole world.”

She knew that.

She hung up with her sister, feeling slightly less alone. For the first time, she wondered about her and Josh. Was it selfish of her, being in a relationship that was doomed? Should she . . . divorce him? It had been really easy to picture him as her rock, her hero, but maybe this was too much for any human heart to endure.

Maybe, she thought, tears dripping onto Pebbles’s head, maybe it would be better if she cut him loose sooner than later. Because she would be leaving him. They both knew that. Divorce might be easier for him to handle. She knew he loved her; that was almost the problem.

Lauren cleaned up the Sheetrock, though obviously she couldn’t patch the hole in the wall without the proper supplies. She took the puppy for a walk. She texted Josh, then called him. He didn’t respond. She had the immature idea to pretend she felt horrible to guilt him into coming back, but she immediately dismissed it as a teenage move (though tempting, sure).

She texted again, saying that she loved him and wanted to talk. He didn’t respond. She called him. It went to voice mail.

She pictured herself going through IPF alone. Well, she wouldn’t be alone. She had Jen and Darius, Sarah, her friends, her mother, her coworkers. There would be plenty of people, and maybe a shared burden would be best (because let’s face it, she’d be a burden).

He came home around ten that night.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He looked at the wall and didn’t say anything else.

“You scared Pebbles,” she said. “And me.”

“Sorry.”