The morning light seeped in through the kitchen window, casting a golden hue over the countertop. I could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, each second echoing in the stillness. There was a scent of coffee brewing, earthy and warm, mingling with the buttery aroma of toast. I leaned against the doorframe, watching Evelyn move with a kind of graceful ease. She carried herself like she was in a dance, unaware of the way the sunlight caught the silver strands of her hair. But I wasn\u2019t really seeing her, not in the way one is supposed to see their spouse.<\/p>\n
I was twenty-five, a shadow of a man burdened with debt, and I had married her for the roof over my head. Not love. Stability. A few years of pretending to be a caring husband, and I thought I\u2019d inherit a beautiful house in a peaceful neighborhood. I thought it was a fair trade. I didn\u2019t think, not really, about Evelyn herself.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re up early today,\u201d she said, her voice soft, almost musical. I shrugged. My stomach twisted a little. I didn\u2019t want to be rude, but I didn\u2019t want to talk either. I was never very good at it. I didn\u2019t want her to notice the way I looked at her sometimes, like she was a means to an end.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll freeze wearing that thing,\u201d she said casually, noticing my old coat hanging loosely from my shoulders.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
I had taken to wearing it, even in the warmest weather, because it reminded me of my life before her. Scrounging through dumpsters, sleeping in my truck behind a grocery store. I remembered the cold nights and the frost on the glass. I had been alone, but now there was warmth. A kitchen, a home. I didn\u2019t have to think about those nights anymore.<\/p>\n
The Quiet Comfort of Routine<\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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