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After a bowl of hot Minestrone with crusty bread, I needed to unwind and exercise. Victor joined me on treadmills in our Gym, and we hiked a broad, grassy trail through the Adirondacks, side by side with the rolling bed, rising and falling underfoot.
Looking at a massive high-definition screen that moved in sync with my body felt odd, but motion sickness consumed me whenever I glanced sideways at my husband.
I focused on the screen and found my feet wandering through hills and woodland while my mind was immersed in the jungle rescue mission that would launch earnestly the next evening our time. The Democratic Republic of Congo was five hours ahead of New York, and the events that would shape the lives of a hundred vulnerable children were in the hands of a group of brave souls preparing to rescue them.
I suddenly choked and found my breathing labored, so I leaped backward off the machine, letting it stop when the safety pull cord tore off my t-shirt.
“I can’t do this, Victor.”
“It’s disconcerting. I feel a bit sick, actually.”
He slammed the giant red button, bringing his machine to a gradual halt. When he stepped off, Victor held me close, and I sobbed like a baby with my head planted on his chest.
“I can’t do this job, this life… it’s too fucking much. I haven’t even graduated, I’m pregnant, recently married, and… oh fuck, I’m full of self-pity!”
“What is it, Amy? What’s the matter, sweetheart?”