It's going on one thirty, and my husband still isn't home yet. When I called Cheers, Sam told me he was currently in the back room for a darts tournament, but he'd have Frasier call me right back as soon as he was done. That was at six, and Frasier never called.

I suppose I should be used to it by now. I know he's not cheating on me--his behavior doesn't fit any of the patterns of infidelity, besides, Frasier's just not the type of person to do that. I know that when he stood up there on our wedding day and promised to be faithful, he meant it. No, it's not another woman that's come between us. To be honest, I don't know what it is.

He spends just about every night down at Cheers, drinking with his friends while I stay at home, taking care of our son and hoping desperately that Frederick won't see how unhappy I am. That Frasier will come home early for once, and do more than peck me on the cheek and fall asleep. We had been so happy once. What happened to us?

I turned over on my side, hugging Frasier's pillow to my chest. It smells like his unique scent of cologne and aftershave, and if I try really hard, I can pretend for a few minutes that I'm holding him instead. Other times I stare up at the ceiling, trying to come up with a reason as to why Frasier prefered everyone at Cheers to me. Did I nag him too much? Was he simply getting more out of being with them than he did with me?

The door creaked open. I shut my eyes and waited for Frasier to take off his shoes, then fall into bed beside me. Nothing. I risked opening my eyes, and saw my son standing in the doorway, clutching his stuffed octupus to his chest. "Mommy?"

I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and hoped that in the darkness, he wouldn't notice that I'd been crying. "Frederick, what are you doing up?"

"I can't sleep," he whimpered, climbing into bed beside me. "Where's Daddy?"

Oh, God, how was I supposed to answer this? "Daddy had to work late," I lied. "But he'll be sure to kiss you goodnight when he gets home."

"Why isn't he here anymore?" My son whimpered. "Doesn't he like us?"

"Of course he does," I whispered. "Your father loves you so much, and so do I."

He curled up in my lap. "Promise?"

"I promise." I hoped I was right about this. "Do you want to go back to sleep now?"

Frederick nodded. I picked him up and carried him into his room, tucking him back into bed and kissing his forehead. He was asleep before I left the room.

Alone back in my bed, I watched the minutes tick away on the clock beside the bed. One forty-five. Two o'clock. Around two fifteen, I heard the front door open, and Frasier come up the stairs. He was in bed ten minutes later, snoring away, unaware that I was crying quietly right beside him.

It wasn't the first time he'd come in this late. But it was the first time he forgot my birthday.