Marriage is texting "we need to talk" and watching someone's soul leave their body in real time. Four little words that bypass all rational thought and hit the panic center, speed-running every mistake made since 2019.
The cruel part: the text never says what it's about. Is it serious? Is it the gutters? Is it — god forbid — feelings? He'll spend four hours in low-grade terror, doing dishes unprompted and laughing too hard at things that aren't jokes. Meanwhile she's forgotten she sent it. She's thinking about paint colors. It was always about paint colors.
Proposal: make it "we need to talk (it's about dinner)." Save a marriage. Spare a soul.