A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
“He received the final approval from the corporate office this morning,” I said.
She stood still, her fingers resting flat on the damp yellow cloth.
“The transfer is scheduled for the end of November,” I said, watching her face for any sign of the warmth we used to share.
“I see,” she said.
She turned to face me, her silver wedding band catching the morning light as she began to twist it around her finger.
“It is a mandatory relocation to the Chicago branch,” I said, using the corporate terminology that felt safe and familiar.
She looked at me with a flat, quiet expression that seemed to hollow out the space between us.
“Then I suppose we have to start looking for a packing service,” she said.
Her tone had no anger in it, only a quiet resignation that felt far worse than any argument.
She was already adjusting herself to the background, preparing to fold her life into another set of cardboard boxes for the sake of my career.
“The company provides a full relocation team,” I said, my voice sounding hollow in the quiet kitchen.
