A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
Marcus stopped twisting his plastic straws and stared down at his plate.
“Anna?” I said, the word hanging in the air.
She carefully laid the pencil down in the crease of the cracked leather spine, then closed the planner without making a sound. Her fingers rested on the silver wedding band on her left hand, twisting it twice around her knuckle before she looked up at me.
“If I am just a stay at home mom, Jordan, then I suppose my opinions on your work do not matter,” she said. Her voice was very quiet, the words spaced out with those slight, deliberate pauses that always made me feel like I was standing before a committee.
“I was only making a light joke,” I said, reaching for my water glass. “It was just a comment on how different our daily routines are.”
She did not answer. She simply picked up her fork and began to move her vegetables around her plate, her expression entirely empty of the warmth that usually filled our dinners.
By eight o’clock, the children were upstairs, and the house had settled into an uneasy quiet.
