My husband’s favorite wife.

He brings it gifts, gazes at it longingly, frets over it, tends to it, worries about its health. Gifts arrive for it all the time. And if it should experience any problem whatsoever?

His world turns upside down.

It is …

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… his saltwater fish tank.

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The one thing he couldn't be without.

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I am a fish tank widow, a lesser wife. The one whose presence does not fascinate, whose health isn't measured carefully every day.

If I were to grow gills the balance might shift. Then again, would I even want that kind of attention?

I think I know the answer. So never mind.

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