My husband’s hand was still on my shoulder when Admiral William Hayes stopped in front of us.
“Remove your hand from her, Daniel.”
My husband let go immediately.
Champagne dripped from my hair onto the front of my navy-blue evening dress. My eyes stung, and the expensive silk clung uncomfortably to my skin.
Across from me, my mother-in-law, Patricia, stood holding an empty crystal glass.
She looked from the admiral to me.
“Rear admiral?” she repeated.
Admiral Hayes didn’t answer her.
He looked at me.
“Sarah, are you injured?”
I shook my head.
“My eyes are irritated, sir. That’s all I can tell you right now.”
He nodded and turned toward the event coordinator.
“Please arrange somewhere private for Admiral Reed to clean up. And have someone bring water.”
The coordinator hurried away.
Patricia found her voice.
“Admiral, there has been a misunderstanding.”
Hayes turned slowly.
“A misunderstanding?”
“She was being disrespectful. I was simply trying to teach her some manners.”
He looked at the empty glass.
“By throwing champagne at her?”
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“Well, when you put it like that—”
“That’s what happened.”
My husband stepped forward.
“Sir, my mother didn’t realize Sarah was—”
“Was what?” Hayes asked.
Daniel stopped.
The admiral waited.
Finally, my husband said, “An officer.”
Hayes looked at him for a long moment.
“Would your mother’s behavior have been acceptable if your wife were a civilian?”
Daniel stared at the floor.
“No, sir.”
“Then her rank isn’t the issue.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Those were the first words anyone had spoken that evening that made me feel as though someone understood what had happened.
Not because I wore two stars.
Not because I had served in the Navy for more than twenty years.
But because a woman had publicly humiliated me, and the man who had promised to stand beside me had blamed me for it.
Security approached Patricia.
She stepped backward.
“You’re not seriously going to remove me from my own party?”
The hotel security supervisor spoke calmly.
“Ma’am, we need you to come with us while we document the incident.”
Patricia looked at Daniel.
“Do something!”
My husband looked at me.
“Sarah, please. Tell them this is unnecessary.”
I stared at him.
For a moment, I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
He wasn’t asking whether I was hurt.
He wasn’t apologizing.
He was asking me to protect his mother from the consequences of what she had done.
“Daniel,” I said quietly, “you watched her throw a drink in my face.”
He swallowed.
“She’s upset.”
“And you grabbed me.”
“I was trying to calm you down.”
“I hadn’t said a word.”
He looked away.
That was when I knew I needed to leave.
Not the party.
The conversation.
Perhaps something much larger.
I turned toward Admiral Hayes.
“Sir, I’d appreciate a moment to clean up.”
“Of course.”
Then I looked at Daniel.
“Don’t follow me.”
He opened his mouth.
I didn’t wait to hear what came next.
My name is Sarah Reed.
I’m forty-eight years old, and I’m a rear admiral in the United States Navy.
For most of my adult life, I’ve worked in environments where decisions have consequences, where people depend on one another, and where leadership means taking responsibility even when the truth is uncomfortable.
But I had spent seven years in a marriage where the truth was constantly being softened to protect one person.
My mother-in-law.
Patricia Reed was the kind of woman who could insult someone while smiling for a photograph.
She was wealthy, socially connected, and accustomed to being obeyed.
She hosted charity dinners, organized fundraisers, and knew the names of nearly every prominent family in her community.
She also believed that her son had married beneath him.
The first time I met her, Daniel introduced me as someone who worked in naval administration.
It wasn’t entirely false.
At that point in my career, I had an administrative assignment.
But I was also a senior commissioned officer with years of operational experience.
Patricia heard the word “administration” and decided I was a secretary.
I corrected her once.
She laughed.
“Oh, sweetheart, there’s no shame in honest work.”
I agreed.
There wasn’t.
So I didn’t argue.
Over the years, she continued introducing me as her son’s wife who worked in an office for the Navy.
Daniel never corrected her.
At first, I assumed he simply didn’t want to embarrass his mother.
Later, I realized he was comfortable with the arrangement.
My career was something he preferred to keep separate from his family.
When I was promoted, he attended the ceremony but left before the reception because Patricia had scheduled a family dinner.
When I received an important assignment, he congratulated me privately and then asked whether I could avoid discussing it at his mother’s birthday celebration.
And when I was selected for flag rank, he said something I never forgot.
“Just don’t let the stars change how you act around my family.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Mom doesn’t like people showing off.”
I almost laughed.
Patricia displayed photographs of herself with governors, executives, and retired ambassadors throughout her home.
But my military rank was somehow inappropriate to mention.
I should have confronted the contradiction years earlier.
Instead, I kept hoping that if I remained patient, Daniel would eventually recognize how unfair the situation had become.
That evening proved otherwise.
The party was a formal anniversary celebration hosted by Patricia at a waterfront hotel.
Ninety guests had been invited.
Several were military officers and their spouses.
Others were business associates, neighbors, and longtime family friends.
I had arrived in a simple evening dress.
My hair was pinned neatly above my shoulders.
I wore no visible rank insignia.
I had come to celebrate with my husband.
For the first hour, everything seemed manageable.
Patricia made a few comments about my schedule.
She asked whether I still spent my days answering telephones.
I smiled politely.
Then she announced that Daniel had been working too hard because his wife was always away.
I let that pass too.
But when she began criticizing a young hotel employee who had accidentally placed the wrong name card at a table, I finally spoke.
“Patricia, it was a small mistake. There’s no reason to speak to her that way.”
The employee looked at me gratefully.
Patricia turned.
“Excuse me?”
“She corrected the card. We can move on.”
Patricia’s expression hardened.
“You don’t tell me how to run my events.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Then stay out of it.”
I nodded and stepped back.
That should have been the end.
Instead, Patricia followed me toward the center of the ballroom.
She raised her voice.
She called me ungrateful.
She said I had forgotten who had welcomed me into the family.
Then she made the comment about my job.
Before I could respond, the champagne hit my face.
I remember the cold liquid.
The sudden silence.
The sound of someone laughing nervously near the bar.
And Daniel’s hand closing around my shoulder.
Not to help me.
To control my reaction.
That was the moment something inside me changed.
The hotel coordinator led me to a private sitting room.
She brought clean towels, bottled water, and a small first-aid kit.
“Ma’am, would you like medical assistance?”
I sat down.
“My eyes are stinging. I’d like someone to check them.”
“Of course.”
She called the hotel’s medical response contact.
Then she handed me a towel.
“I’m very sorry.”
I looked at her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She hesitated.
“I saw what happened.”
I nodded.
“So did a lot of people.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I gently blotted my face.
My mascara had run.
My dress was damp.
And my hands were shaking.
That surprised me.
I had stood through difficult briefings, handled emergencies, and delivered terrible news to families.
Yet a glass of champagne thrown by my husband’s mother had left me trembling.
Not because I was afraid of Patricia.
Because I was finally admitting how much the marriage had cost me.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Sarah?”
It was Admiral Hayes.
“Come in, sir.”
He entered carrying my evening bag.
“You left this at the table.”
“Thank you.”
He placed it beside me.
Then he pulled up a chair.
“How are your eyes?”
“Someone is coming to check them.”
“Good.”
He studied me for a moment.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I looked down at the towel.
“Patricia was insulting a hotel employee. I asked her to stop.”
“And?”
“She became angry.”
He waited.
“Then she threw her drink.”
Hayes nodded slowly.
“Did your husband intervene?”
I looked up.
“He told me to stop embarrassing his family.”
The admiral’s expression changed.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t offer an immediate judgment.
He simply said, “I’m sorry.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
He leaned back.
“Sarah, I’ve known you for nearly fifteen years.”
I nodded.
“I’ve watched you handle difficult assignments without losing your judgment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly.”
I looked at him.
“Do you feel safe going home with your husband tonight?”
The question startled me.
I thought about Daniel grabbing my shoulder.
About his anger when I contradicted his mother.
About the years of being told to remain quiet.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Hayes nodded.
“Then don’t make that decision while you’re upset and alone.”
He reached for his phone.
“Is there someone you trust who can stay with you?”
I thought of my friend Commander Lisa Morgan.
She lived nearby.
“Yes.”
“Call her.”
I did.
Lisa answered on the second ring.
“Sarah? Everything okay?”
I looked at the towel in my hand.
“No.”
Her voice changed immediately.
“Where are you?”
I told her.
“I’m coming.”
She didn’t ask for details.
She didn’t demand an explanation.
She simply came.
While I waited, the hotel medical responder examined my eyes and recommended further evaluation if the irritation persisted or my vision changed.
Fortunately, my vision was clear.
The stinging gradually eased after appropriate rinsing.
The responder documented what I reported and advised me to seek medical care if symptoms worsened.
When she left, I found several missed calls from Daniel.
Then a message.
“Mom is humiliated. You need to come back and smooth this over.”
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
“Everyone is talking. Please don’t make this worse.”
I read both messages twice.
Then I placed the phone face down.
Admiral Hayes watched me.
“Your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to answer?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Then you don’t have to.”
A few minutes later, Lisa arrived.
She took one look at my face and stopped.
“Sarah.”
I stood.
She crossed the room and hugged me carefully.
“What happened?”
I told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Her expression hardened.
“You’re coming home with me.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Hayes stood.
“I’ll make sure the hotel preserves its security footage and that the incident is properly documented.”
I looked at him.
“Thank you, sir.”
He shook his head.
“Sarah, you shouldn’t have needed four stars in the room for someone to intervene.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“No, sir.”
He looked toward the door.
“And your husband shouldn’t have needed them to recognize what was wrong.”
I couldn’t answer.
Lisa picked up my bag.
“Let’s go.”
I followed her out through a side entrance.
I didn’t return to the ballroom.
The next morning, Daniel arrived at Lisa’s house.
He had called repeatedly overnight.
I hadn’t answered.
Now he stood on the porch holding a bouquet of white roses.
Lisa looked at me.
“Do you want me to tell him to leave?”
I considered it.
Then I said, “I’ll speak to him.”
She nodded.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I opened the door.
Daniel looked exhausted.
“Sarah.”
“Hello.”
He held out the flowers.
“These are for you.”
I didn’t take them.
He lowered his hand.
“Can we talk?”
I stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind me.
He looked at my face.
“Are your eyes okay?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
For a moment, I thought he might finally apologize.
Instead, he said, “Last night got completely out of hand.”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
“Mom was upset. You know how she gets when she’s embarrassed.”
“Daniel.”
He stopped.
“Your mother threw champagne in my face.”
“I know.”
“You grabbed me.”
“I was trying to keep things from escalating.”
I looked at him.
“Your mother had already assaulted me.”
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Do you have to use that word?”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“Sarah, she’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife.”
He looked away.
I continued.
“Seven years, Daniel. Seven years of her insulting my work, my background, and my place in your family.”
“She doesn’t mean half the things she says.”
“Then why does she keep saying them?”
He had no answer.
I took a breath.
“Last night, you had a choice.”
His expression tightened.
“Don’t make this about choosing sides.”
“You chose one.”
He looked at me.
I continued.
“You didn’t ask whether I was hurt. You didn’t tell her to stop. You put your hand on me and blamed me.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I was embarrassed.”
The admission hung between us.
I waited.
Finally, I asked, “Embarrassed by what?”
He looked up.
“By the scene.”
I shook my head.
“Not by what she did?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence told me more than anything else.
Daniel stayed on the porch for nearly twenty minutes.
He apologized eventually.
But every apology came with an explanation.
His mother had been drinking.
The guests were important.
The admiral’s announcement had made everyone uncomfortable.
He hadn’t known how to respond.
Finally, I held up my hand.
“Stop.”
He fell silent.
“I don’t need another explanation for your mother.”
He stared at me.
“I need to know whether you understand what you did.”
He looked down.
“I should have protected you.”
“From whom?”
He hesitated.
I waited.
“From my mother,” he said.
“And instead?”
“I blamed you.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked at the flowers.
“Can we go home?”
I took a breath.
“Not together.”
His head lifted.
“What?”
“I’m staying with Lisa for now.”
“Sarah, don’t be ridiculous.”
I looked at him.
“That word is exactly why I need space.”
He closed his eyes.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you leaving me?”
I looked toward the street.
For years, I had been afraid to ask myself that question.
Now I couldn’t avoid it.
“I’m deciding whether this marriage can continue.”
He stared at me.
Then he said something that finally revealed how little he understood.
“All this over one glass of champagne?”
I looked at him.
“No, Daniel.”
My voice was steady.
“Over seven years of being treated like I mattered less than keeping your mother comfortable.”
I opened the door.
“Please leave.”
He stood there for a moment.
Then he turned and walked away.
The roses remained in his hand.
Two days later, Patricia called me.
I almost ignored it.
But I wanted to hear what she had to say.
“Sarah.”
“Patricia.”
Her voice was stiff.
“I understand you’ve been staying elsewhere.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel is devastated.”
I waited.
She continued.
“This has gone much too far.”
“What has?”
“The incident at the party.”
I looked out Lisa’s kitchen window.
“Which part?”
Patricia sighed.
“Sarah, don’t be difficult.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“I admit I lost my temper.”
“Yes.”
“And perhaps I shouldn’t have thrown the champagne.”
“Perhaps?”
There was a pause.
“Fine. I shouldn’t have done it.”
I waited.
Then she said, “But you embarrassed me in front of my guests.”
I closed my eyes.
“Patricia, I asked you not to humiliate a hotel employee.”
“That girl made a mistake.”
“She corrected it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
Patricia’s voice sharpened.
“You’ve always had a problem respecting this family.”
I took a breath.
“No. I’ve had a problem being disrespected by this family.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Oh, now that everyone knows you’re an admiral, I suppose you think you’re better than us.”
I stared at the phone.
There it was again.
The same accusation.
The same refusal to see me as a person.
“My rank has nothing to do with this.”
“Of course it does. That man made a spectacle of me.”
“He asked who had assaulted me.”
“He had security escort me out!”
“Because you threw a drink in my face.”
Patricia went silent.
Then she said, “I expect you to call Daniel and apologize.”
I felt something settle inside me.
“No.”
She gasped.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not apologizing for being assaulted.”
“Sarah—”
“And I’m not discussing this again until you’re prepared to take responsibility without blaming me.”
I ended the call.
My hands were steady.
For the first time in years, I had said exactly what I meant.
And I hadn’t waited for anyone’s permission.
The hotel contacted me the following week.
Its security department had preserved footage of the incident, and the event coordinator had documented what she witnessed.
The hotel asked whether I wished to make a formal complaint.
I said yes.
I also consulted an attorney about my options.
I wasn’t interested in turning the incident into a public spectacle.
I wanted an accurate record.
Patricia’s conduct had been witnessed by dozens of people.
But I knew how quickly a family could rewrite an uncomfortable event.
Already, Daniel had described it to one relative as a misunderstanding.
Another family member had called it a disagreement that got out of hand.
Neither description was accurate.
A woman had thrown a glass of champagne into my face.
My husband had grabbed my shoulder and blamed me.
Those were the facts.
And I was finished allowing other people to soften them.
The attorney explained the available reporting options and the importance of preserving evidence.
I followed the advice.
Then I turned my attention to the harder question.
My marriage.
Lisa found me sitting at her kitchen table one evening.
I had a notebook open in front of me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Writing.”
She glanced at the page.
“About Daniel?”
I nodded.
She sat across from me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to stay married?”
I looked at the notebook.
For years, I had answered that question automatically.
Yes.
Of course.
Marriage was a commitment.
People worked through difficult things.
But now I thought about what staying would require.
I would need Daniel to recognize the problem.
Not simply regret the embarrassment.
Not simply promise that Patricia would behave better.
He would have to acknowledge that he had participated in the mistreatment.
And he would have to change.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Lisa nodded.
“That’s an answer.”
I looked up.
She continued.
“You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”
I smiled faintly.
“That’s not how I usually operate.”
“I know.”
She leaned back.
“But this isn’t a military operation, Sarah. You don’t owe anyone a decision by morning.”
I laughed softly.
Then I looked down at the notebook.
At the top of the page, I had written three questions.
Did Daniel believe I deserved respect?
Could he disagree with his mother without punishing me?
Would he take responsibility when he hurt me?
I stared at them.
I knew the answers based on the past.
I didn’t know whether the future could be different.
Daniel asked to meet two weeks later.
We chose a quiet café.
He arrived early.
When I sat down, he looked nervous.
“Thank you for coming.”
I nodded.
“What did you want to discuss?”
He took a breath.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
I waited.
“About how I treated you.”
He looked at his hands.
“I kept telling myself I was keeping the peace.”
I said nothing.
“But I wasn’t.”
He looked up.
“I was keeping my mother happy.”
I felt my chest tighten.
He continued.
“And every time she insulted you, I expected you to absorb it because you were stronger.”
I stared at him.
“Daniel.”
He shook his head.
“Please let me finish.”
I nodded.
He took a breath.
“I knew you could handle difficult situations. I’ve seen you do it. And I used that as an excuse not to stand beside you.”
His eyes filled.
“I told myself you didn’t need defending.”
I looked down.
He continued.
“But last night wasn’t about whether you were strong enough to handle my mother. It was about whether I was willing to treat you like my partner.”
I swallowed.
“And were you?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
The honesty hurt.
But it mattered.
He leaned forward.
“I’m sorry I grabbed you. I’m sorry I blamed you. And I’m sorry I let this happen for years.”
I looked at him.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then he said, “I’ve started counseling.”
I was surprised.
“Individual counseling?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized I don’t know how to set boundaries with my mother.”
I studied him.
“And?”
“And because I don’t want to keep making that your problem.”
For the first time since the party, I felt a small amount of hope.
But I was careful with it.
“Daniel, I’m glad you’re taking steps.”
He nodded.
“But one conversation doesn’t repair seven years.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not moving home because you finally said the right things.”
He looked disappointed.
But he didn’t argue.
“Okay.”
I watched him.
That single word was different from the reactions I had come to expect.
No pressure.
No accusation.
No reminder that his mother was upset.
Just acceptance.
I took a breath.
“We can keep talking.”
He nodded.
“I’d like that.”
Over the following months, Daniel continued counseling.
We attended several joint sessions as well.
Some conversations were painful.
He admitted that he had minimized my career because he worried his family would see him as less successful.
I had never known that.
He was a capable professional with a career of his own.
But he had grown up in a family where appearances mattered more than honesty.
Patricia praised status when it belonged to her friends.
She resented it when it belonged to someone she couldn’t control.
Daniel had learned to manage her moods by agreeing with her.
And after we married, he expected me to do the same.
I listened.
I understood more than I had before.
But understanding didn’t erase the damage.
In one session, the counselor asked me what I needed from Daniel.
I thought about it.
Then I said, “I need to know that if someone hurts me, my husband won’t ask me to apologize for making them uncomfortable.”
Daniel lowered his head.
The counselor turned toward him.
“Can you hear what she’s asking?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Can you repeat it in your own words?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She needs me to recognize when someone is treating her badly, even if that person is my mother.”
I nodded.
“And?”
He swallowed.
“She needs me to stop blaming her for other people’s behavior.”
I felt tears sting my eyes.
“Yes.”
He reached toward my hand.
Then stopped.
“May I?”
I looked at him.
After a moment, I nodded.
He took my hand gently.
It was the first time in months that his touch hadn’t made me tense.
Patricia did not change as quickly.
She sent several angry messages.
She accused me of dividing the family.
She complained that Daniel had become distant.
Then she stopped calling for a while.
Eventually, she sent a letter.
It was short.
She acknowledged throwing the champagne and apologized for humiliating me.
She also admitted that she had repeatedly dismissed my career and treated me disrespectfully.
There were no excuses in the letter.
No accusations.
No demands.
I read it twice.
Then I placed it in a drawer.
I didn’t respond immediately.
An apology could be sincere.
It could also be the beginning of a pattern that repeated itself.
I needed time to see what followed.
Daniel understood.
He didn’t pressure me.
That mattered.
Six months after the party, I attended a Navy recognition dinner.
This time, I wore my dress uniform.
Daniel accompanied me.
Before we entered, he looked at me.
“You look beautiful.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Are you nervous?”
I laughed softly.
“About the dinner?”
“About us.”
I looked at him.
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“Me too.”
We stood quietly for a moment.
Then he said, “I know I can’t undo what happened.”
“No.”
“But I want to keep showing you that I’ve changed.”
I studied him.
“Then keep doing the work.”
He nodded.
“I will.”
Inside, several officers greeted us.
Admiral Hayes approached with his wife.
“Sarah.”
“Sir.”
We shook hands.
He looked toward Daniel.
“Good evening.”
Daniel straightened.
“Admiral.”
Hayes studied him for a moment.
Then he turned back to me.
“How have you been?”
I smiled.
“Better, sir.”
He nodded.
“I’m glad.”
That was all.
No public discussion.
No dramatic confrontation.
Just a quiet acknowledgment.
Later that evening, Daniel sat beside me as I spoke with colleagues about an upcoming assignment.
He listened.
He asked questions.
And when someone congratulated me on my work, he smiled.
“I’m proud of her,” he said.
I turned toward him.
He looked back.
For years, I had wanted to hear those words without worrying about who might be offended.
Now I finally had.
Our marriage didn’t become perfect.
No marriage does.
There were difficult conversations.
Old habits resurfaced.
Sometimes Daniel hesitated before disagreeing with his mother.
Sometimes I withdrew too quickly because I expected him to disappoint me.
But we learned to name those moments instead of pretending they weren’t happening.
And when Daniel made a mistake, he stopped asking me to excuse it.
He apologized.
Then he worked to correct it.
Patricia remained part of his life.
But I no longer attended events where I was expected to tolerate insults.
Daniel stopped presenting my absence as a problem I had created.
He told his mother the truth.
“If Sarah isn’t treated respectfully, we won’t attend together.”
For the first time, the boundary came from him.
Not from me.
That was a change I could see.
One evening, nearly a year after the incident, Daniel and I were getting ready for a small dinner with friends.
I stood in front of the mirror fastening my earrings.
He entered carrying my evening bag.
“Ready?”
“Almost.”
He looked at my dress.
It was the same navy-blue gown I had worn to Patricia’s party.
I had taken it to a professional cleaner after the incident.
The fabric had survived.
For months, it had hung untouched in my closet.
Now I had decided to wear it again.
Daniel stopped.
“Sarah.”
I looked at him through the mirror.
“Yes?”
“Is that the dress?”
I nodded.
He was quiet.
Then he said, “You don’t have to wear it.”
I turned.
“I know.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I just don’t want it to remind you of what happened.”
I studied him.
“It does remind me.”
He lowered his eyes.
I continued.
“But I liked this dress before your mother threw champagne on it.”
He looked up.
“And I don’t want that moment to decide whether I can wear something I love.”
Daniel nodded slowly.
“That makes sense.”
I picked up my bag.
He stepped aside and held the door open.
No argument.
No instruction about how I should behave.
No warning to avoid drawing attention.
Just a simple gesture.
As we walked toward the car, he took my hand.
I let him.
The evening air was cool.
The sky was turning pink above the trees.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t preparing myself to be diminished before we arrived somewhere.
I was simply going to dinner.
With a husband who was learning how to stand beside me.
Not in front of me.
Not against me.
Beside me.
And that was the place I had asked him to choose all along.
