Carisi looked down at the first page again.
He had expected a departure notice.
A transfer.
A new commitment.
Something official enough to explain why Amanda had spent three days carrying the folder around like it contained a live wire.
Instead, the document in front of him described a professional opportunity Amanda had been offered—and, beneath it, the conditions she had demanded before she would even consider accepting it.
Carisi read the first line twice.
Then the second.
Then the handwritten notes in the margin.
Protected evenings whenever possible.
No sudden relocation.
A fixed review date instead of an open-ended commitment.
Clear limits on how much of their family life the new responsibility could consume.
He raised his eyes.
Amanda had not accepted an opportunity behind his back.
She had spent three days negotiating with it.
“You didn’t say yes,” he said.
Amanda shook her head.
“No.”
“But you said you made a decision.”
“I did.”
Carisi looked at the page again.
“Then what am I looking at?”
Amanda rested both hands on the table.
Her posture was steady now, but he knew her too well.
He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she pressed her thumb against one finger when she was forcing herself not to rush.
“You’re looking at what I needed before I could make the decision with you.”
He frowned.
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“Amanda, you just told me you already decided.”
“I decided I wasn’t going to walk in here and ask you to carry the cost of something I wanted.”
That stopped him.
She continued before he could answer.
“I know how this works.
An opportunity comes along, everybody says it’s temporary, everybody says we’ll figure it out, and suddenly the people at home are the ones doing all the figuring out.”
Carisi leaned back.
The anger that had kept him standing for most of the conversation was losing its shape.
Amanda tapped the folder.
“So before I brought this home, I asked questions.
I pushed back.
I made them put things in writing.”
“For three days.”
“For three days.”
“Without telling me.”
Her face tightened.
“That’s the part I got wrong.”
He was quiet.
Amanda could have defended herself.
Years earlier, she probably would have.
She could have told him that nothing was final, that there had been no point worrying him before she knew whether the opportunity could fit into their life.
All of that would have been partly true.
Instead, she said, “I was scared.”
Carisi stared at her.
The sentence was so simple that it broke through the last of his anger faster than any argument could have.
“Of me?”
