He couldn’t see his wife from where he stood.
But suddenly he didn’t like the sound of what his mother had said.
He walked down the hallway.
The laughter behind him continued.
Then he entered the kitchen.
And stopped.
Elena was standing at the sink.
Alone.
She was wearing the same loose maternity dress she’d been wearing that morning when Marcus left.
Her hair was tied loosely behind her head.
Her shoulders were hunched.
Her face looked exhausted.
And her feet…
Marcus stared at them.
Her ankles were so swollen that the skin looked painfully tight.
She was eight months pregnant.
She should have been resting.
Instead, she was standing in front of a sink filled almost to the top with dirty dishes.
Pots.
Pans.
Plates.
Glasses.
Serving bowls.
There must have been enough dishes for fifteen people.
Elena was washing them one at a time.
Slowly.
Carefully.
She didn’t hear him enter.
Marcus walked closer.
He reached out and gently touched her back.
Elena jumped.
Then turned.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Oh.”
She smiled.
“Hey, honey.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Why are you doing this?”
She glanced at the dishes.
“It’s okay.”
“Elena.”
“I’m almost finished.”
“You’re eight months pregnant.”
