She sits at the kitchen table, a cup of cold coffee in front of her. This can’t be happening to her, to her perfect little family. She draws in a shaky breath and then releases it. She’d spent all her tears last night, leaving nothing for today.
But how had this happened? The Day had started out like most days. The kids had gotten up early, watched cartoons while munching on dry cereal. She’d given the baby a bottle. Then she and the kids had gone outside to feed the birds small bits of bread and to check on their garden. When they’d returned, her husband, normally a cheerful morning person, had started the day off arguing with her about how she loads or doesn’t load the dishwasher. She wishes she hadn’t become defensive, that she had promised to try harder, instead of getting sucked into a fight about other domestic chores, about the ways he comes up short.