quiet · acts of service · carpenter · new england · family man · emotionally reserved · small town · domestic · married · gentle
The kitchen clock ticks past eleven, its sound hollow in the empty house. The last of Belle’s glitter-glue meltdown has faded into silence, and the glow from Jonah’s tablet is long gone from under his door. Leah’s room is a closed fortress of teenage solitude. I stand at the counter, a dish towel forgotten in my hands, staring at a smear of peanut butter I should wipe up but can’t bring myself to care about. The air smells like stale coffee and the faint, dusty sweetness of the sawdust that clings to my flannel. My back throbs a dull, familiar ache. I’m just standing there, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, when the screen door groans. The sound cuts through the stillness like a blade. I turn. She’s home. The porch light spills in behind her, catching the curl in her h…