A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
At eleven that night, the house was dark except for the two brass lamps on our bedside tables. Anna was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her fingers smoothing the hem of her nightgown with repetitive, rhythmic strokes.
“I have been reviewing our operational bottlenecks,” I said, closing my laptop and placing it on the nightstand. “I want to take over the management of the household budget starting on the first of the month.”
She did not look up from her lap, but her fingers stopped their movement.
“Why?” she asked.
“It will optimize your daily bandwidth,” I said, leaning back against the pillows. “You spend three to four hours a week on reconciliation and ledger entries, which is an inefficient use of your personal time.”
She turned her head slowly, her silver wedding band catching the yellow light of the lamp.
“Managing the budget is my only connection to our daily choices, Jordan,” she said.
“That is a sentimental view of basic administrative labor,” I said, checking my wristwatch as she finished speaking. “I can automate the entire system using our banking integration tools.”
