“Sometimes I wish I could go back. Just for one afternoon. Sit there and hear Dad making breakfast.”
Ethan didn’t answer immediately.
He studied the photograph for a long time.
Then he asked, “Do you remember what color the curtains were?”
“Yellow.”
“Bright yellow?”
“Not exactly. More like butter. Mom hated them.”
“Why?”
“She thought they made the kitchen look old-fashioned.”
He smiled faintly.
“And your dad kept them?”
“Until we moved.”
Ethan looked at the picture again.
“Do you remember the house number?”
I told him.
He nodded, but he didn’t explain why he had asked.
A week later, I found him studying the photo album again.
When he noticed me in the doorway, he closed it gently.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Everything’s fine.”
He crossed the room, kissed me, and placed his hand over my stomach.
“I think we’re going to be okay, Liv.”
I believed him.
On the morning of our fifth wedding anniversary, I woke to the smell of coffee.
