People were going to work.
Buses were running.
Someone was walking a dog past our townhouse.
And inside our kitchen, my marriage was quietly becoming something else.
Daniel crossed his arms.
“What exactly are you planning to do?”
“For today?”
“For us.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“I don’t know yet.”
That answer frightened him more than anything else could have.
He wanted a fight.
He wanted a declaration.
Something he could oppose.
Instead, I gave him uncertainty.
And uncertainty had always been Daniel’s weakness.
At 8:15, I locked myself inside my home office.
The room had once been a guest bedroom.
Over time, it became the place where I held conference calls, prepared presentations, and sometimes slept after late-night arguments because Daniel complained that my laptop light kept him awake.
I opened my computer.
My reflection appeared briefly in the black screen.
Bald.
Tired.
Determined.
