A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
She walked over to the armchair and sat down, her knees drawing together as she held the letter tightly against her knees.
“We needed the income,” she said, her voice softening. “Your business degree was the fastest route to stability for the family.”
“But it cost you your laboratory,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, a small nod of her head confirming the weight of her choice.
“And I spent ten years acting as if I was the only contributor to this household,” I said, the guilt rising in my throat.
She did not deny it, sitting in the chair with her face half-hidden in the shadow of the floor lamp.
“I was wrong,” I said. “The entire system of our marriage was built on a false premise.”
She looked at the fellowship letter in her lap, her thumb rubbing the gold seal of the university.
“Is this why you turned down the Chicago promotion?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Moving to Chicago would have finalized your departure from the academic sector.”
“Your boss told you it would stall your career,” she said.
