I Asked My Husband If He'd Ever Leave Me. And Then, for Over a Month, He Did (Exclusive)

Lizz Schumer, Steven RowleyWed, June 3, 2026 at 4:19 PM UTC

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Steven Rowley (left) and his husband Byron
Credit: Courtesy of Steven Rowley

The argument began as a silly thought exercise soon after we moved to the desert. Perhaps it was the dry Palm Springs air, or the winds that would kick up around dusk, or the endless twinkling that appeared nightly across the dark sky — more than we’d ever seen over a decade together in Los Angeles, a city known for its stars. As we sat outside one warm August night looking at the shadows of the mountains, I asked my husband Byron an off-handed question: If a UFO appeared over our backyard and a beam of light shone down, would you go? No time to pack, no time for goodbyes. You either go, or you stay. It was a question I soon regretted asking, as Byron answered unequivocally and without hesitation. He would go.

On the surface, both options seemed morally valid. If the purpose of life is exploration, how could we not want answers to the unknowable secrets of the universe? And who else to get them from than a species more advanced than our own. But discovery can also happen here at home. After all, isn’t that what marriage is? You can spend a lifetime with someone and not know everything about them. We are so complicated and contain multitudes, it’s quite possible that no two people have ever truly met.

But Byron’s answer was immediate and avowed. Faced with true opportunity, I would not be enough for him to stay. But hadn’t we taken vows? I tried not to dwell on my hurt feelings, after all this was merely a hypothetical ask — an off-the-cuff question meant to start conversation; Byron hadn’t actually done anything wrong. I was willing to put it aside, chalk it up to one of those micro-slights couples endure in committed partnerships. And I was the one who asked. Maybe his honest answer served me right.

A few nights later, I spotted Byron again in the backyard listening to music, this time holding his phone to the sky. When I asked what he was doing he replied very matter-of-fact; he was sending signals into the universe. Apparently, he had downloaded an app. Signals that you’re an idiot, I thought. But this was music to meditate to, to imagine our greater place in the universe, while perhaps calling aliens to his side.

Byron (left) and Steven
Credit: Courtesy of Steven Rowley

I was working my way through early seasons of Law & Order, an activity I found comforting because each episode was closed-ended, where he was looking for something more open; maybe I was the idiot. When I asked who the signals were meant to be for, he shrugged. Whomever was listening, he supposed. I could only think of a joke and so I told it. “Why do aliens avoid Earth? Terrible reviews. It only has one star.” Still, I worried about these signals. I don’t believe in much, but I know it’s mathematically unlikely that we are alone. Maybe my innocent hypothetical would soon become very real.

But if any signals were sent into the universe, they went unanswered, swallowed by a vast void. Byron found the meditation aspect calming, so it was a harmless pastime. Soon this became a question we loved to ask other couples, passing the baton of this argument on to them. Our lives pressed on. We set real roots in the desert, trading our first modest house for our dream home. We rescued two dogs from local shelters. We became a family. Perhaps Byron’s answer had changed, maybe now he would want to stay. And quite honestly, every time I turned on the news I saw the appeal in leaving.

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We had just returned from Christmas with my family in Maine when Byron’s phone rang at the kind of unusual hour that rarely brings good news. He spoke to the caller in a serious tone, both calmly and with mild alarm. His mother had a major heart attack and was rushed  into surgery. We bought him a one-way plane ticket to Louisiana to be by her side, not knowing how long he would need to stay. There was a small dog and a bird to care for, not to mention his mother’s house, which was ill-equipped for an unusual freeze. A short ride to the airport, a hurried kiss and suddenly, just like that, he was gone.

Over the first few days of his absence, I thought a lot about our old debate. The metaphor was apt; he had returned to the mother ship. My mother-in-law stabilized, but cell reception was poor and updates were few and far between. He’d rushed out in such a hurry, I wondered if he had what he needed. At night, brushing my teeth, I fixated on his reading glasses on the side of the tub where he’d left them and worried he might need them; surely he brought another pair. Our dogs slept by the door, hoping he’d walk through it at any moment. A week passed quickly, and then two. His mother went to physical rehab, and even then it seemed downsizing and additional care would be needed, which brought a slew of new challenges. There was insurance to navigate, and government programs to apply for. Her house to prepare for the market.

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Meanwhile our own home remained quiet, eerie, still. Slowly I made changes to set routines, bending them to my schedule. I ate dinner in front of the TV. Bedtime was pushed back as it seemed sad to retreat to a cold bed, alone. Soon even the dogs were sleeping in; without the smell of coffee and the promise of breakfast, it seemed pointless racing to greet the day.

I realized how much work Byron did to make our lives feel effortless. A power outage tripped several breakers. I barely knew where the circuit box was, so accustomed was I to Byron handling those things. Alone, it felt like there was always so much to do. But I carried on, knowing that my work on the homefront allowed him to be where he needed to be. I grew attuned to my new way of doing things, and wondered if he would be annoyed when he returned, having to put things back the way they were.

But then three weeks passed and I began to wonder, is Byron coming back? There was always a small part of him that fantasized about leaving it all behind and going to live off the grid. I had drinks with a friend and confessed a side of me wondered if my husband had moved to Louisiana and had simply been unable to tell me. It made for fun cocktail banter — we both knew he would never do that. But maybe something had changed between us. Suddenly spending so much time alone, I began to wonder if we aren’t all of us aliens, even to the people we think know us best. Maybe I didn’t know Byron as well as I thought I did, and worse, I feared — maybe I hadn’t allowed him to know me.

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I had always been guarded, private. I take after my mother that way. I grew up a closeted kid in the 1980s, before the Internet or much gay representation on TV; at the time, it was easy to imagine I was the only one like me. I was also raised in a rural state, Maine, in a family that loves winter. “We’re a ski family,” my sister loves saying, and indeed my nieces and nephews are champion skiers. Are we, though? I hate the snow. And the cold. I ditched Maine for California as soon as I could. Thirty years on, I still feel like I’m trying to thaw. My siblings all had serious careers, they were lawyers and social workers; my parents met selling insurance. I heard the call of show business, believing there was a different path for me. Maybe instead of just extra, I was the extraterrestrial all along. Did my husband see me that way?

'Take Me With You' by Steven Rowley
Credit: Putnam

Finally, after more than a month, the call came — Byron would be returning home. His mother had been moved into an assisted living facility and a realtor had been contracted to sell her house. Fortunately, Byron’s sister stepped up to take the bird. He returned with his mother’s Toyota and the dog, a miniature dachshund mix. And as suddenly as he left, he was back. I hugged him tight and ran my hands through his hair, looking for reassurance that he was still him.

He hadn’t been replaced by an alien creature wearing a suit of his skin. He was tired, but no worse for the wear. But he had returned to earth with this weird creature he met on his home planet. Next to our two enormous dogs, this new addition with short legs and a tail that never stopped wagging was the true cosmic newcomer. She is silly and brave and an explorer in her own right and while she studied us with great curiosity we soon learned to communicate with one another. In a matter of days, she was part of the family.

Take Me With You by Steven Rowley is available now, wherever books are sold.

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