I sat on the bed, reading a book, waiting.
Jack had taken a habit of coming home late, waking up late, and not talking much.
I had to avoid my habit of going to sleep early and waking up early to talk to him.
He came in, stepping on his toes, quietly trying not to wake me. He immediately noticed I was awake when he opened the door fully and stopped.
"Good evening, darling," I said, and he tensed.
I wasn't given to diminutives or endearing words.
"Is there something?" he asked, approaching me carefully, but no longer on his toes.
"Nothing," I said, setting the book aside.
"Is the book interesting?" he asked and looked at the cover. "Code for chemical factories: residue management," he read the title. "I guess not."
Yes, that was the kind of literature I'd been reading lately.
I ha
