I was married for a year when I found a blue pill on the floor. My immediate reaction was: Oh, this is how it happens in the stories, in the books and magazines, when she discovers that her husband is on pills.

A pit of dread formed in my stomach. What’s going to be? What should I say? What should I do?

“Aharon, what’s this?” I asked my husband, my heart pounding.

“Oh, Naftali probably dropped it when he was here yesterday,” Aharon said casually. Naftali was his older single brother, who suffered from a heart condition.

Silly me, letting my imagination run wild. Why would I even think that the pill was Aharon’s? Aharon was totally normal and balanced, a serious ben Torah with sterling middos. We were a great pair, too, the darling couple of both sides of the family.

We were the couple who always spoke nicely to each other, both in public and behind closed doors. The couple who went out on dates all the time, going for walks, to parks, to the zoo. The couple who did everything together, from planning home improvements to shopping for the necessary hardware to rearranging the furniture.

We never got into big fights or drawn-out deliberations, the way other couples did. Here and there, if I had a problem with something Aharon was doing, I would mention to him what was bothering me, he would nod his head and apologize, and that would be it.

When Aharon’s parents and mine had discussed finances prior to our engagement, his parents had committed to help a bit with monthly support. A few weeks into the engagement, they had surprised my parents and me by pledging to help us buy us a house whenever we were ready. And indeed, when we felt it was time to move out of our starter apartment, my in-laws gave us a handsome down payment for a house. I felt quite fortunate, especially because I knew my in-laws had given us a lot more money for the house than they had given their other married children. I took this as a sign that they were proud of us.

By the time Aharon and I were married four years, we had two children and a house of our own. Things couldn’t have been better. Of course, we had ups and downs, but I figured that was normal. So Aharon had times when he couldn’t get up for Shacharis. Big deal; my seminary teachers had prepared me for that. So here and there he went through a few days when he seemed mopey and gloomy. Okay, so I also had my moods sometimes.

It was actually the ups that made me more concerned than the downs. Once, Aharon was unable to fall asleep for a few nights. “I think this is a problem,” I told him. “Maybe you should go to the doctor.” But then the insomnia passed, and I figured it was just a one-time thing.

Another time, after Naftali finally got engaged, Aharon was on such a high that he was acting almost hyper. When I pointed that out to him, his response was, “Okay, so I’ll take some Valium.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in alarm. “Valium isn’t vitamin C, or Tylenol. You don’t just pop it when you need to calm down after your brother’s vort.”

“Valium is nothing,” he said, waving his hand. He went on to list a few choshuve people he had heard of who carried around Valium with them and took it as needed. (Excerpted from Mishpacha, Issue 658)