The wife was excited to make awesome Christmases with her husband. She set about filling his stocking each year with chocolates and kitchen doodads and other things he never got around to buying, like socks and t-shirts and underwear. She bought him graphic novels and art books and records for under the tree. She filled a stocking for the dog. Usually, they spent the actual day at the house with her dad and the extended family in Iowa. Those were some good times. The husband was your fun uncle who went all in on sledding and lawn games. If a Frisbee was tossed too far, he’d dive into a hedge for it with little hope of catching it. If there was something to do on a sled that you really shouldn’t do, he would do it, standing up or lying down and aiming directly for a bump, and he would also go to the emergency room more than once on Christmas with a concussion or his chin split open. That time when he got the concussion he said a bunch of things that didn’t make sense and in the emergency room the doctor put an X-ray of his skull on a lighted board and was that a crack on his skull and was her husband brain-damaged now, was this her new life, maybe this was what husbands and wives did for each other, maybe it all came down to a bump on the head.