Izabel’s tablet dinged that Cami was checked in at school. She sighed. She felt something in her chest drop, like a ball, a short but satisfying distance. She put the tablet on the floor, wiped herself, pulled up her pants, washed her hands, and picked up the tablet again. It wasn’t even 9 a.m. Kaito would still be in the kitchen.

She decided that she’d rush out, kiss him on the cheek, and go to the mall. She didn’t know what she would do there, but it was better than staying home. The days dragged on until Cami came back. And when Kaito came out of his office for lunch or for a break, she felt like he was critical of how she used her time, even though he didn’t say it, even though he insisted he didn’t think about her like that.

But she was critical of herself in that way. Even if she cleaned everything, got all the laundry done, responded to emails, ordered the groceries, scheduled dentist appointments. Even then, she wondered what she was doing inside her perfect life, where she was perfectly comfortable, and she’d survived the Turning, and she’d fallen in love, and the world had been taken back, some of it, and they’d had a child, and their child flourished, and they wanted for nothing, and no one was homeless, and no one was hungry, and what they had learned was that anything could be accomplished, if it were for few enough people.

She got dressed and went into the kitchen. Kissing Kaito’s cheek felt better than she wanted to admit. His skin was smooth and smelled good, from an aftershave he liked, something he picked out himself. It made her feel special that he used it, that he shaved, because he never had to see anyone but her.

She could feel her unhappiness with him wane. And it would come back, too. She knew that.

She pressed the button on the wall that called for a car. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and they smiled at each other as if they would have sex if she were staying. It was an easy enough smile to give when they both knew they didn’t have to deliver.

She looked back at the panel on the wall that called the cars and opened the doors. It also had the display for the air filtration system. She looked at this snapshot so often she hardly saw the specifics of it anymore, only that everything was green and well. All the filters were functioning properly. There were no errors in the system. But today she saw that the air quality was at 98 percent.

“Kaito,” she said. “The air quality is at ninety-eight percent.”

“Hmm.”

“Isn’t it usually at ninety-nine percent? Or one hundred percent?”

“There are no errors?”

“No.”

“Then I guess ninety-eight percent is fine.”

“I guess so,” she said.