I’m turning 58 next month, and I honestly don't know what to do with this feeling that’s been nagging at me, sometimes just a little whisper and other times it’s like a bell going off right in my ear. Last night, for example, John was watching one of his hunting shows, the one with the guys in the really cold places, and he falls asleep in his recliner around 8:45 almost every night, mouth open just a little bit, and I was sitting there, knitting on the afghan for the church bazaar, it’s the third one this year, and I just looked at him and thought… nothing. Just… empty. I didn’t feel annoyed, or warm, or even tired myself. Just… nothing. And that’s how it’s been for forty years, ever since we got married. We were 18, I was pregnant, everyone here in Willow Creek just assumes that’s how it had to be, right? Small town, everyone knows everyone else’s business, my mother would have just about had a fit if I hadn't married him. But even back then, even when we were dating, even when he gave me that little silver heart locket for my 16th birthday, I just never felt… that thing. That spark. That feeling you read about in books or see in movies. He’s a good man, John is. Always has been. Never yelled at me, always worked hard down at the co-op, brought me flowers from the grocery store exactly twice a year, our anniversary and my birthday. And he fixes things, which is good out here because getting someone to come all the way out from town is just a nightmare. He fixed the porch swing last spring, put new boards in the floor of the shed, he’s good with his hands. And I love my kids, I really do, all three of them, and my grandkids, especially little Gracie, she’s just turned four and she reminds me so much of myself when I was small. So it’s not that I’m unhappy with my life, not really. It’s just… him. When he kisses me goodnight, usually after the hunting shows but sometimes before if he’s really tired, it’s just… there. A kiss. Like kissing your brother or something. No feeling, no warmth. Just a quick peck. And I always thought that was just how marriage was, you know? That maybe all the romance stuff was just for the movies, or for city people. But then sometimes I’ll be talking to Carol down at the post office, or even Beth from the quilting circle, and they’ll mention something about their husbands, little things, and their eyes just light up. And I think, “WHAT am I missing?” Or maybe I’m not missing anything, maybe I just don’t have that part in me that makes you feel that way about a man. Because I HAVE noticed other things. Like how I always liked being with the girls more, even when I was a teenager. Always felt more comfortable, more… myself. And there was this new woman who moved to town last year, she teaches art over at the high school, a really pretty woman, dark hair and always wears these interesting scarves, and I just find myself looking at her, a little too long, maybe. And thinking about her, little things, like how she laughed at something I said at the bake sale last month, and her laugh was so… open. And it just makes me wonder if maybe I’m not broken, maybe I just looked in the wrong direction my whole life. And what do you even do with that, at 58?