Marissa’s eyes traveled to his maimed hand. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” she blurted out

Yaakov opened his eyes and checked the time. It was 6:03 a.m.

Marissa had a 7 a.m. – 3 p.m. shift at the NICU today. She was probably packing up her sandwiches in the kitchen. He could still say goodbye before heading to shul.

Funny, he wasn’t hearing the cheerful, tuneless humming that usually signified Marissa was working in the kitchen. He swiftly dressed, slipped his feet into his shoes, and walked quietly down the hall.

Marissa was standing silently at the counter, spreading tuna over a slice of spelt bread. The hospital offered its staff plenty of fresh food, but Marissa preferred to prepare her sandwiches at home — she was very particular about the ratio of mayonnaise to tuna.

“Good morning,” Yaakov said.

“Hi,” Marissa answered. Her lips stretched into a smile, but her eyes didn’t crinkle half shut the way they usually did.

Yaakov turned on the electric kettle and pulled down a mug. “Everything okay?” he asked, as he reached for the coffee.

The great thing about Marissa was that, unlike all those inscrutable women his sisters had warned him about, she was actually honest. If she said “everything’s okay,” everything really was okay — no subtle hints and simmering resentments for the clueless husband who couldn’t divine hidden intentions between the lines. And if she was upset, she made it clear and even told him why.

This morning, she was upset.