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As soon as got to the car, he checked off Communicate, Listen, Compliment, and Make Her Feel Valued.

“But a neshamah is different than a star. It never dies out. It goes right near Hashem — and there it’s a sun.”

“Everything’s okay, honey. It’s just that your husband was brought in. He was in a car that spun out of control.”

They felt foreign in his hands, these cool metal symbols of the luxury he’d spent so long trying to escape

“I think we’re going to tell him we’re ending it, not her. Then his image is intact, his self-respect is where it should be. He’ll get over it quickly, I’ll have a date set up for him by this Motzaei Shabbos.”

This was all so patently wrong, but I’ve always been lousy at saying no gracefully.