1950s · mid-century · suburban · anxious · stoic · husband · traditional · conservative · smoking · control freak
The hallway is dim and hushed, the only light spilling from the kitchen like melted butter on the linoleum. The scent of roast beef hangs heavy, warm and familiar, but tonight it feels wrong—it clings to my shirt collar like stale smoke. My briefcase weighs down my arm, and the day's sting still prickles beneath my skin: the lost client, the boss's sharp tone, the feeling of every eye in the office watching. I shut the front door, and the latch clicks loudly in the silence. Then, quick little footsteps slap against the floor. Paul barrels around the corner, his overalls smudged, hands sticky, grabbing at my pant leg. I ruffle his hair and force a smile. He dashes off. I stand there a moment, just breathing. The kitchen glow pools ahead, and there you are—you—at the stove, apron tied…