My son's divorce… it’s been finalized for a few months now. Everyone keeps telling him how strong he is, how he’ll find happiness again. And he will, I guess. He's a good man. But I keep thinking about how things ended with his wife. The yelling, the silences, the sort of passive-aggressive way they'd treat each other even when they were trying to be polite. It's too familiar, I think. That’s the problem. I remember my own marriage, with his father. We never shouted much, not really. Not like Americans, anyway. But there was always a tension, a kind of unspoken disappointment that hung in the air, especially after we came here. Things weren't ever quite right, you know? Always a feeling that someone was falling short, not doing enough for the family, not understanding the other's needs. We stayed together for the children, of course. It was what you did. But maybe that was the worst part of it. Staying. Letting them see that kind of… quiet unhappiness as normal. As how things are supposed to be between a man and a woman. Now I see my son, starting over. And I wonder if I taught him that same way of being. That maybe you just tolerate things, or you fight in a way that’s not really fighting, just wearing each other down. He never saw us truly happy, I guess. Not really. Maybe he never learned how to BE happy, not in a partnership. And I can’t stop thinking, what if that was my fault? What if I set the example for him to kind of… fail at this too. It eats at me. It really does.