Chapter Twenty
The Dishwasher
It is not always the mother who has the “mummy genes.”
Steven was quiet for the next few days, saying little but retreating into his study to work on his new book with a new character. Apparently, the old one had outlived its purpose.
When we first moved to our home, Steven’s writing routine was as it always was: him in the kitchen occasionally reading out, waiting for my input. I knew all his characters and could help with the plots and back stories. Not now. I had no idea what he was working on. He never read to me; apparently, I had as much interest in his characters as I did in s*x.
To be honest, my attention span was as short at a TV ad and just as compelling. The only thing that held my attention was my bed, and the only thing I felt comfortable doi
