I put the envelope in my pocket.

“Jewelann. What are you doing?”

Slowly, carefully, I turn around. I get to my feet and keep my voice calm although it wants to waver. “The kitchen sink is draining so slow. I was making sure this bathroom drain isn’t stopped up or anything. You know we had the problem down here a couple of years back. I just wanted to make sure—”

Two years ago, on Christmas Eve afternoon, there’d been a major backup in this bathroom. I’d called a local plumber, totally forgetting about the holiday I didn’t celebrate, but there wasn’t anyone available to come out for a few days. Ken had managed to do something to it before then. I’d cleaned up the mess. We turned off the water to the toilet and canceled the plumber. The bathroom had become one of those things families deal with, the broken things you step over or work around or pretend are fine even though they periodically overflow.

Ken looks past me, at the open cabinet door. His gaze drops to the pocket of my robe. I don’t know if the corner of the envelope is sticking out. I don’t touch it to find out. I don’t even look.

“What were you doing in the kitchen so late?”

“I got a little snackish. Sushi, you know.” I pat my belly and give him a smile. “Doesn’t stick.”

Ken rakes a hand through his hair, standing it on end. His forehead glimmers. He swipes his fingertips across his mouth before putting his hands on his hips. “You scared the heck out of me.”

I used to rave in underground, black-box clubs and wear platform boots that gave me an extra six inches of height. I pierced my own ears with a safety pin. I used to have a personality. Now, I’m married to a guy who says “heck” unironically.

I close the cabinet behind me and ease out of the bathroom, past him. The door to his office is open. From here I can see through it to the tool bench that had been my father’s. A few of the tools have been missing for years, but the outlines for them are marked with permanent ink on the pegboard remain, a reminder of my father. A reminder of how quickly life can change.

Ken stares. “Is the drain in there okay?”

“Seems to be. When you went over to the carriage house, did you manage to fix the toilet?” I head for the basement stairs and say this over my shoulder. I want to put distance between myself and my old hiding place.

“Seemed to be fine. Call a plumber if you’re worried about it. Jewelann,” he says, and I pause.

Turn.

“Hmm?” Sleepy eyes, slack lips, I’m on the way to bed, nothing to worry about. Just a pretty little wife with nothing going on in her dumb-blonde head. Nothing to worry about.

Please, not a thing.

“Are you coming up?” I ask him, all soft and breathy. A caricature.