Mariana arched a brow. “This may not be the deal-breaker. This may be forgivable. But it’s not about this time. It’s about the collective times. Think about the other times you’ve called me, wishing you were opening your own shop, wishing you had the time to open your own shop. But your time is all his. Think about where you want to be right now and how you want to get there.”

“Are you saying I should leave him?”

She held up her hands as stop signs. “That is not my place. What I am saying is maybe it’s time for some tough love.”

A few weeks later, my eyesight was perfect. It was twenty-twenty, and the irony wasn’t lost on me as I went to a kickboxing class with my new eyes.

With each punch, I counted. I still hadn’t opened my chocolate shop, I was still paying bills that weren’t mine, his restaurant was still struggling, and his loans were coming due.

Too many nights of him out late with his chef friends, coming home stinking of wine and tequila then crawling into bed, wanting to make love like that, needed to end.

We’d gone to therapy. We’d seen a counselor. I’d asked him to go to AA. He’d attended a few meetings. He’d earned his one-day sober chip five times over. And he’d lost it every time.

Five years after I said I do, I said something else. At the end of the workout, I turned to Mariana. “It’s time.”

She smiled. “You know I’m behind you, every step of the way.”

That meant the world to me. That was the opposite of a deal-breaker.

I left class, called Leo, and asked him to meet me later that day for coffee.

At the coffee shop, Leo ordered a coffee with extra cream, just the way I liked it. He brought two mugs to the table. I clicked open the web page on my computer and toggled to the open tabs. “This one is nearby. I read about all its programs, and I think it can help him.”

Leo peered at the screen, nodding as he read. “I’m no expert, but it sounds like a good choice.”

“There are some others, but they’re farther away and more expensive.”

“I can pay for it.” His eyes were flooded with hope and a strength that floored me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t even think to ask for help, not from Leo and not from Tripp’s parents. But Leo’s willingness to do it, to put his money where his mouth was, stunned me.

“Thank you, but he’s my responsibility.”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, he pinned my gaze with his serious eyes. “He’s our responsibility, Lulu.”

A headache brewed out of nowhere behind my temples. I rubbed them, trying to rub away the pain. “He’s my husband. I have to try.”

“It’s hard. It’s harder on you than anyone else.” That was all he said. All he needed to say. But he knew it. He understood.

“Paying for it is my responsibility. I took a vow, and I take it seriously.”

“I know you do, but I’d like to help. I’d like to pay.”

“No, thank you.”

He sighed. “Tell me what I can do.”

I inhaled and drew on all my strength, wavering though it was. But I had it in me. I had stores of it, thanks to my mom and the way I was raised. I’d been a strong girl growing up. I would be a strong woman. “I want us to tell him together. He’ll do better if he knows we both want him to get well. That it’s not just for me, but for you too.”

“Strength in numbers. Of course.”

“He loves me like crazy. But you, Leo? You’re like his brother. He looks up to you. He needs to know it’s hurting both of us. Most of all, though, he needs to know it’s hurting him.”

And so we planned. I talked to the rehab programs. I soaked up all the advice I could. I knew the risks. I knew the numbers and the high likelihood of a relapse.

But it needed to be done.

A few days later, I told Tripp I was sending him to a twenty-eight-day program. Leo stood by my side in the apartment I shared with the man I’d promised to cherish.

And dammit, I would. Helping him was cherishing him.

I sat Tripp down on the sofa. “I booked you into the program. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

He sputtered. “But what about the restaurant?”

Leo stepped in, brooking no argument. “I have it covered. I asked a sous-chef I know to fill in for you.”

“But can he make all the dishes the same way? Can he handle the waiters? Can he handle⁠—?”

“Yes.”

That was all Leo said to the questions. Yes. He made it clear Tripp had no wiggle room on the work issue.

Tripp sighed heavily, sadness creeping over his face, but a newfound humility too. “Shit, man, you did that for me?”

“I’d do just about anything for you. And your wife would too. You need to know that.”

Tripp’s eyes welled with tears and gratitude. “Lulu, is this what you want?”

I got down on my knees, took his hands in mine. “Tripp, I want the man I married. I want you back. But I need you to do it for you.”

“I will. I’ll do it for me. I want to change. For you, and for me.”

The next day Leo and I drove him to upstate New York. After Tripp checked in, he saluted me, his head held high. “I’m doing this. Thanks to you guys.” He waved at us like a sailor boarding a ship bound to battle the enemy. No—to positively vanquish the enemy. “When you see me again, I’ll be the king of seltzer water. We’ll celebrate the new me with apple juice.”

A sunflower bloomed inside me. A whole field. “Ginger ale and Diet Coke are the bomb.”

“I can’t wait to fill our fridge with 7 Up.” He stopped in his tracks, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “I have an idea. I’m going to become a tea master. That’s it! I’m going to be the reigning king of Earl Grey, jasmine green, and English breakfast.”

“Don’t forget oolong,” I called out.

He ran back to me, cupped my cheeks. “Why can’t we all just get oolong?”

I laughed so damn hard I nearly peed. This was the man I’d married. He’d be back. Just wait and see.