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My ten-year-old daughter said her tooth hurt, so I booked the Saturday dentist appointment myself. It should have been ordinary: a waiting room, a paper bib, a quick answer, maybe a rinse. Then my husband suddenly insisted on coming, even though he had never cared about those visits before. At the clinic, he stood too close, smiled too neatly, and answered before Lily could. The dentist noticed. Before we left, he slipped a folded note into my coat and said, “Call me if anything changes.”