It was May 9, 2005, and Patrick and I were ten days into our marriage. We had an overnight layover in London on the way home from our honeymoon. As soon as we got off the plane, we had a disagreement about where we should spend the night. We tried my suggestion first, but it was booked for the night. Patrick’s face said it all—he knew he should have taken the lead on that one. He walked about 6 feet in front of me until we exited the airport and got in a taxi to go to the next hotel.
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