I left the dirty skillet in the bottom of the sink under the dripping brass faucet.

I didn’t turn around to see whether someone was standing in the archway with a folded dish towel, ready to lecture me about chores.

I felt no need to explain why I was leaving a pan to soak overnight.

No one was going to come down the hall to tell me who was supposed to wipe the counter or pay for the groceries.

I walked into the living room and switched off the kitchen ceiling light, letting the room fall into shadow.

The streetlamps outside had just flickered on, laying long bars of amber light across the wide wooden floorboards.

I walked over to the open balcony doors and felt the soft salt air drifting in off the river.

I shut the laptop and listened to the sound of the ocean.