"Work wrapped up ahead of schedule."
I sat on the couch. My voice didn't waver.
She smiled, walked over, set her bag down. Said that was great, asked what I wanted for dinner.
The smile was flawless. Not a single crack.
Same as always, she tied on her apron, washed the vegetables, chopped them. The kitchen filled with the warm smell of a home-cooked meal as the spatula scraped against the pan.
At dinner she piled food onto my plate, asked if the trip had been tiring, said I looked like I'd lost weight.
I answered every question. Like I didn't know a thing.
Afterward she cleared the dishes, wiped down the table, mopped the floor. Didn't miss a single task. The dish towel by the sink was folded into a neat square. Fresh bag in the trash can.
She moved through all of it so quietly, as if she were afraid of disturbing me.
The perfect wife. The kind you couldn't find a single fault with.
After her shower, she came out in a satin camisole nightgown, her hair still half-damp against her shoulders.
She sat down beside me. Rested one hand on my arm.
Her fingertips traced a slow line across my skin. Then she leaned in, her voice soft as velvet.
"Honey, it's been a while since we..."
"Do you want to?"