My Husband Cooked Dinner, and Minutes After My Son and I Ate, We Both Collapsed. I Played Dead on the Floor and Heard Him on the Phone: “Soon They’ll Both Be Gone”
The kitchen light was warm.
The dishwasher was running its usual cycle.
Lucas had been telling me, in the breathless run-on way of a ten-year-old, about the science project he was building for school, and I had been half-listening and half-thinking about the week ahead, and Christopher had been moving around the kitchen exactly like a husband, exactly like a father, exactly like the man he had always seemed to be.
He set the blue plates down.
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