The romantic fireworks that had brought Vivian and Edward together and sealed their union in the beginning had fallen and settled into a dampened pile of unsexy, but comfortable domestic ash, like it did with most married couples. Their partnership had grown into something mainly bonded by time, their daughter Charlotte, and their mutual dislike of anyone too different from them. On a normal night, Vivian wouldn’t have even blinked at Edward’s reference to Frogtown or the word “Guinea.” Tonight, she resented the way it came out of his mouth. Instead of responding to his question, Vivian stabbed her fork violently around her plate until it finally pierced a limp piece of iceberg lettuce.

The next morning, the Second Morning, Vivian opened her eyes and remembered everything all over again and the flush of anger rose to the surface of her skin. The spot next to her in the bed was empty. Edward always got up early on Saturdays and went straight to his workshop, and was probably hammering or sawing something at that moment. Vivian considered how satisfying it would be right then, to be hammering or sawing, using heavy or sharp tools to pound or slice, and her fury gained momentum as she climbed from the bed and into her slippers and robe.

What she was also reminded of, as she moved about in a kind of heated daze, was that she didn’t have anyone to share that fury with. It was fuzzy, her thoughts about her coworkers and the friends she didn’t really have outside of work. Who had time for friends when you had a job and a family? Her hands shook as she took the dress down from the hanger. Who could she burden with this? Because she sure as hell didn’t want to suffer this alone. Her sister Vera? Ha! That was a good one. Vera’d probably take an ad out in the paper to tell everyone else the news; host a goddamned party to celebrate Vivian’s misfortune. Vivian’s thoughts were pointed, sharp, but her legs had begun to wobble and her head to swim. She needed to stay angry to keep going.

If Vivian ever confided in any of her siblings, it was Henry, but Henry had gone and married Norma Barfield, whom Vivian couldn’t stand, and had moved to Fredericksburg. They didn’t really talk too much anymore, and she missed him. There was also Violet. Sweet, steady, warmhearted Violet. The only problem was, Violet was currently siding with Vera on everything. It hadn’t mattered when they were kids. Violet was always too young. But now she was grown-up and had her own family, and she and Vera were thick as thieves. Although, let six months pass and Violet would probably be mad at Vera for something, and then she’d go running to Vivian and the two of them would put their heads together to complain about Vera. But that wasn’t right now. Right now Vera and Violet were teamed up, and Vivian had no one to turn to. The discontentment, panic, and fear were like physical lumps she could almost see growing inside her head, her stomach, and her throat. No one to turn to. Nowhere to turn.