I arrived home early. There, I discovered my husband in the kitchen with a dog. The dog was one of those fox-eared creatures, face-forward, watchful, with dark eyes and a white snout. She was seated on the linoleum by the back door, a few feet away from my husband as if she did not trust him completely.
“What are you doing home?” he asked.
“I could say the same for you,” I replied. It was a Thursday afternoon; Richard usually returned from the city much later, closer to six. Last week, we sat by the fire as the evenings had grown cooler. “My class was cancelled,” I added.
He nodded, face turned away, and filled the teapot at the sink...
-an excerpt from my short story, Chloe