Then he flung both broken halves into the sink with a loud, wet splash that sent soapy water across the linoleum.

He dried his hands on a dish towel, tossed the towel on the counter and walked out into the dark hall without another word.

I sat frozen at the table, listening to his heavy footsteps climb the carpeted stairs to the bedroom.

In the sink, the two jagged halves of the broken plate lay quietly under the white suds.

David didn’t offer to help clean up the broken pieces in the sink.

He wiped his hands on a blue dish towel, picked up his leather briefcase and went out to the garage without saying a word.