Seven years ago,
Mrs. Hackett used a small spoon to scrape the last of the tomato paste out of a can and onto a sizzling pan. She pressed her lips together while she threw the spoon into the kitchen sink.
“Enough already.” She approached the breakfast table and smacked her thigh, getting her husband’s attention.
Mr. Hackett popped his head over the latest edition of Tools For Fools magazine and raised his eyebrows over his reading glasses.
“Come on. I’m waiting.” His wife was instigating.
“Why say anything? You’ll dismiss my opinion and do whatever you want.” Mr. Hackett dropped the booklet on the table.
“You’re impossible,” she grunted.
“What you’re doing won’t end well.” The husband crossed his arms.
The wife opened her eyes until a network of veins formed around them.
“Wh
