A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
The word housewife felt heavy and awkward when I spoke it.
“She is at home with the children,” I said.
“At home,” Claire repeated, the rapid speed of her voice dropping into a flat, quiet tone. “Anna is doing domestic scheduling? Jordan, she had three published papers before she even finished her candidacy exams.”
“I need to run to a departmental meeting,” I said, looking at my watch as she finished speaking.
I sat in the quiet of our home den at eight that evening while the rest of the house was settling down. The low desk drawer of our oak filing cabinet had a sticky brass handle that groaned when I pulled it open. Underneath a stack of old home insurance policies and utility bills from our first apartment, I found a thick blue folder made of textured cardstock.
Inside the folder, Anna’s old research proposals were stacked chronologically, each page crisp and free of dust. At the very back of the folder, clipped to a letter of commendation from the dean of sciences, was a white deposit slip from our shared savings account dated exactly ten years ago.
