The pressure didn't stop at the dinner table. It followed me home in the form of "just checking in" phone calls from my sisters.
"I saw that Julian didn't come to Aunt Rose’s birthday party," my sister Claire said during a Tuesday afternoon call. "People are starting to talk, El. It looks bad. Mom is worried that you’re pulling away. You know how she gets. She thinks Julian is isolating you."
"He had a late meeting, Claire," I lied, the exhaustion settling into my bones. The truth was that Julian couldn't face another three hours of being dissected by people who didn't understand the complexity of our silence.
"Well, just be careful," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We just want what’s best for you. We’re your blood. Husbands can come and go, but family is forever. Don't let him make you a stranger to us."
This was the loyalty conflict that was hollowing me out. Every time I defended Julian to my family, I felt like I was betraying my "blood." But every time I allowed my family to criticize him, I was betraying my husband. I was being pulled in two directions by people who claimed to have my best interests at heart, yet none of them had bothered to ask me what I actually felt. They were so busy protecting the family image that they were willing to sacrifice my peace of mind to maintain it.