A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
Anna was sitting on the edge of the mattress, her back straight and her hands resting on her knees.
She was looking at the empty space on her dresser where her blue folder of certificates used to sit.
I walked into the room and set the cracked leather weekly planner on her nightstand.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice flat and even.
“This is the schedule for the next four weeks,” I said.
She did not touch the book, her eyes remaining on the dark leather.
“I do not need another list of chores, Jordan,” she said.
“It is not a list of your chores,” I said. “It is a list of mine.”
I sat on the wooden chair near the closet, my hands clasped between my knees.
“I have blocked out fifteen hours a week where you have no domestic responsibilities,” I said. “The grocery shopping, the laundry, the school runs, and the dinners are my responsibility now.”
She looked up at me, her eyes narrow and guarded.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because you need the time,” I said. “And because I should have been doing this ten years ago.”
