The main chandelier was off, so only the little bulb under the microwave hood threw long shadows across her face.

“A decent home is quiet and dark long before midnight, Mariana,” Eleanor said, her voice dry and curt.

“I had a required launch presentation for our regional clients downtown,” I said, putting my water glass on the counter.

She straightened the lapels of her floral robe with two quick, sharp pinches of her thumb and forefinger.

“Women who spend their late nights drinking in city hotels with men from the office lose the respect of their households,” she whispered, gazing into her mug.

“They forget who scrubs their kitchen floors and who watches their house while they chase after titles.”