He walked in about ten. She was quiet, the homework all done, groceries purchased, the last of the laundry was tossing in the dryer. She had taxied their children to try-outs and practice, through the mall for tennis shoes, made dinner, done the dishes, mowed the neighbor’s lawn, laughed and cried with the kids and worked nine hours herself.
Their eyes connected. She was on the couch, curled with book and pen, working on tomorrow’s study material. She looked cozy. He leaned over to give her an intimate squeeze, a deep, throaty kiss. She melted, momentarily, then her spine stiffened. “I’m exhausted. Shut the door behind you.”