“There’s no one there, Jane.”

“I can see that. He was there just a minute ago.” I hate it when he doesn’t believe me and it’s been happening more and more these days. I don’t like it. That’s one of the reasons I stopped taking the pills. I mean, your husband should love you and worship the ground you walk on. He doesn’t just now, I know, but he will again. I’m back. He’ll see. I take a deep breath. I need to make my husband treasure me again. I will provide him with that opportunity starting tonight. He has been avoiding me. Like I carry a disease. I’m not contagious. Of course, there are other things holding his interest these days. He thinks I don’t know about that. Silly man. I force a smile to my lips, blink my eyes.

“Are you hurt?” Now he attempts kindness. What’s the old saying: a day late and a dollar short?

“Don’t think so.” I shrug as he takes my hand. As we touch I wish it was electric like in the long-ago days, but it’s not. Of course, all relationships change over time, and we’ve been married for more than two decades. Back in the early days, that first year together, he would have scooped me into his arms and carried me to a chair. Now that we’re a longtime married couple, he escorts me old-lady style to the kitchen and pulls out a bar stool. I slide onto the cold, hard wooden seat.

David checks my feet for glass while I stare at the top of his head. He’s blessed with thick dark brown hair, without a streak of gray. Mary had the same glorious mane of hair. In fact, Mary looks a lot like David, despite the fact she was adopted. Isn’t that funny? Two daughters, one who looks just like my husband, the other, Betsy, our biological daughter, who looks like a watered-down version of me. Perfect, isn’t it?

“You’re not cut. I’ll sweep up the glass. Why don’t you go put socks on? Your feet are freezing.”