“I’ll look tomorrow.”

He had promised that the week before when she performed a small scene at her school assembly.

And the week before that when her soccer team played its last outdoor game of the season.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m tired.”

He sat down with his dinner, took out his phone, and began scrolling while I washed a pan.

I studied the back of his head and wondered how two people could inhabit the same kitchen while living in entirely different versions of their marriage.