He had wanted me embarrassed.
Instead, he was the one who couldn’t look directly at what he had done.
“Morning,” I said.
His expression shifted.
Suspicion.
“You’re up early.”
“I usually am.”
“You said you were quitting.”
“I said I’d take care of things.”
“That’s not what you said.”
I lifted my mug.
“It’s barely seven, Daniel.”
He opened the refrigerator, stared inside, then shut it harder than necessary.
“Where’s breakfast?”
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
The silence stretched.
And for the first time in our eleven-year marriage, I did not fill it.
Daniel’s mouth tightened.
“You said you were going to make breakfast.”
“No. Your mother said I would.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You knew what I meant.”
I took a sip of coffee.
“You’re an adult. There are eggs in the refrigerator.”
For one brief second, I saw confusion instead of anger.
