I walked down the hall and found Richard standing at the stainless steel stove.

He wore a navy blue apron over his crisp white dress shirt, his silk tie tucked neatly between the buttons.

He checked his reflection in the dark glass of the microwave door and smoothed a gray hair above his ear.

“You are home late,” he said.

I put my keys in the ceramic bowl on the counter.

I rubbed my bare left wrist, missing the familiar weight of my grandmother’s silver watch.

“Did you have a good day at the bank?” I asked.