I married Dan Price when I was twenty-seven.

He was not exciting. I knew that on our first date. He took me to a diner, asked me a hundred questions about myself, and listened to every answer. He didn't talk much about his own life. He drove me home and shook my hand at the door.

I married him two years later. Best decision I ever made.

Dan works at First Carolina Bank in Charlotte. He's worked there for eighteen years. When people ask what he does, he says, “Risk. It's pretty boring.”

He never talks about his work. Ever. He leaves it at the office.

We live in a small house in a quiet neighborhood. We have two boys, ten and twelve. Dan coaches their baseball team, mows the lawn on Saturdays, and does the crossword on Sundays.

He owns five cardigans. All navy.

My family loves him in a slightly confused way. Like a nice piece of furniture. My dad, Ron, a retired high school football coach, calls him “the Professor.” My mom, Sharon, says he's “very steady.”

My little sister Kelsey, who is twelve years younger than me, used to call him “Uncle Beige.”

I never minded that Dan was quiet.

I just didn't know, until that year, how much he was carrying in the silence.