A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
She stood up, walking to the window that looked out over the dark backyard.
“I am not asking for your charity, Jordan,” she said, her voice dropping into that familiar quiet pause.
“I am not asking for your permission to help, Anna, I am simply showing you the schedule I will be responsible for from now on.”
She turned around, her face caught in the shadow of the curtain.
“You think you can just write a plan and fix everything,” she said.
“I am executing the plan,” I said. “The attic key is on the dresser if you need to get your research files.”
She looked at the nightstand, her fingers reaching out to touch the edge of the leather planner.
She did not open it, but her hand stayed there, her thumb tracing the worn seam of the spine.
“The children will be confused,” she said.
“They will adjust,” I said. “I will be the one waking them up tomorrow.”
I stood up and walked toward the door, leaving her standing by the window.
I set the leather weekly planner on her nightstand, its pages filled with my handwriting instead of hers.
