Discontent

With hands around a steaming cup of coffee, Victoria watched the morning fog descend over the yard from the kitchen window. Everything appeared quite normal—the gentle golden light of dawn, the clean grass still shimmering with dew, and the quiet murmur of morning birds she could hear through the glass. Still, the sight seemed subdued, almost strange, as though it were occurring just slightly apart from her. She discovered herself slightly squinting, as though she were looking for something just outside the periphery of her own vision.

She drew a long breath and allowed the aroma of coffee envelop her senses. She considered, maybe I just need more sleep, but she knew the discomfort had persisted for longer than a few sleepless evenings. Like a weak tug at the rear of her consciousness, it had begun as a barely perceptible sensation she could readily overlook. But lately, it became more difficult to distance yourself and drown out with morning rituals and grins shared at school drop-offs.

"Mama, I'm ready!," Ethan's voice pulled her back to the coziness of her kitchen from her ideas.

Victoria turned to find her kid shining at her, his small fingers clutching the straps of his dinosaur-inspired rucksack. His clear eyes, so full of innocence and wonder, peered up at her and broke the stillness of her brief trance.

She murmured, bending down to ruck his hair, "Look at you, Mr. T-Rex," letting her smile color her voice. Are you not sure you will have an incredible day today?

Ethan grinned and nodded fervently. "Today we are studying about space. Saturn has rings, did you know that? Numerous them. And they comprise rock and ice!

She arched her eyebrows and nodded in imitation amazement. Rocks and ice, then? That sounds wonderful, though. Possibly one day you will be an astronaut.

Sure! First I have to make it through today, he replied with a stiff, self-important nod. She laughed gently, his seriousness melting the unusual discomfort still lurking in the rear of her thoughts.

She gently pushed him toward the front door from behind. "You go and occupy space, okay? I will be here to listen to all about it.

Her small legs bound with that unfettered energy that youngsters seemed to have as she watched him vanish down the road into the carpool line. But the moment the door closed behind him, a familiar silence descended on the house—a silence that ought to be consoling but instead seemed hollow, resonating faintly in her chest.

She leaned against the counter and let the silence spread back into the kitchen. The house seemed very large and too quiet. She corrected herself; I am simply being foolish. She attempted to ignore the idea, but a small voice persisted, murmuring things she wanted no one to know. Her life was excellent, decent even—a loving family, a lovely house, and a consistent career. She considered herself fortunate. She was aware of this. As much a hundred times, she had told herself.

She did not dare investigate a part of her, though, that appeared to challenge if this was it. Should this be the sole narrative her life could offer?

She shook herself out of her dream as the clock chimed from the corridor. She naturally checked the time. Before the afternoon she had errands to run, lessons to get ready for, and parent emails to answer. This was not the time for fantasy or indulging in silly, self-centered ideas. She grabbed her calendar from the kitchen island and opened it to let the familiar beat of to-do lists and reminders flood her head. That was simpler. simpler than trying to organize the foggy ideas that tormented her.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and she looked down to find a text from Sophie saying Lunch today? I have to discuss my most recent catastrophe date. Main emergency.

Victoria's lips closed into a little smile. A delightful diversion, Sophie's dramatic calls for compassion or guidance were a relief. Her unvarnished humor was a consistent healer. Feeling a little less anxious, she sent back a brief I-in and put her phone away.

She couldn't completely get rid of the feeling though, as she stood there with coffee cup in hand. Her life seemed to be little by bit slipping away from her, with all its well scheduled events and predictable routines. And she had no idea what to do about the calm need that rested, unfulfilled, deep within her.

Later that evening, the home was alive with the noises of a winding-down day: the murmur of cartoons on the TV, the clang of pots in the kitchen, and Ethan's joyous conversation as he helped set the table with his normal zeal. Victoria walked between the sink and the stove, monitoring a simmering pot of spaghetti while mentally compiling tomorrow's chores. Usually, the peaceful hum of family life plus the homey warmth of the kitchen felt comforting. But tonight there was something slightly off-kilter—a alteration so faint she couldn't quite define it but could feel hovering in the air.

Daniel's unmistakable frame swept the front door open. She said, "Hey, you're home early tonight!" expecting her voice to be naturally kind.

Though it felt oddly far, Daniel looked at her and mustered a little smile. Yes, just needed a break from the office. He dropped his briefcase and untied his tie, then slid into the room with a somewhat forced ease.

From the corner of her eye, Victoria observed him as he moved—his movements slower, more deliberate. She tried to ignore the tingling sensation rising her spine. It was probably nothing, simply her overanalyzing events in line with her past ideas.

She laid a steaming plate in front of him and settled down, encouraging Ethan to match. She asked, intending to start their customary little chat, "So, how was work today?"

Daniel seemed to pause for too long before responding, and his eyes snapped up. "Same as always—meeting, phoning, a few little crises. Not at all new. His voice seemed less than usual, too laid back, as though he had practiced the response.

Victoria didn't press. Rather, she listened politely while he related a few boring facts about his day, each one somewhat more cut off and colorless than the next. She could almost always fall into recalling something humorous or ludicrous with that familiar twinkle in his eye, and she knew the cadence of his stories. But tonight his voice had a hollow sound, a certain remoteness that seemed inappropriate.

His phone rang on the table halfway through the dinner, subtle but forceful vibration vibrating across the wood. Daniel's gaze flicked down, and his hand reacted naturally to flip it over so as to hide the screen from view.

Though she attempted to turn away, Victoria couldn't help but see busying herself cutting Ethan's food. She saw the minute change in his demeanor out of the corner of her eye—the way his shoulders stiffened and his jaw tightened. When the buzzing stopped, he seemed nearly relieved.

"Everything is good?" She asked, attempting to keep her voice laid back, but her heart missed a beat.

"Yeah," he answered rather too rapidly, without really addressing her gaze. "Just do work. Nothing vital.

She nodded, trying herself to smile, but a twirl of anxiety stayed in her chest. She thought about asking more, maybe pushing just a little, but she stopped because of something in his body language—a faint, nearly undetectable edge. Rather, she looked down at her plate, trying to stifle the unusual sensation chewing at her.

Daniel's focus drifted even further as the evening carried on, as though he were psychologically somewhere, his body in the room but his thoughts far removed. She observed his glazed-over eyes at supper, his mechanical, brusque answers to her questions. Daniel's response to Ethan's enthusiastic sharing of a school story was a nod devoid of the warmth he typically experienced listening to his kid.

Daniel withdrew to the study after dinner and murmured something about needing to catch up on emails. Victoria saw him go; the door closed softly behind him. Before, that door had not closed very often. Though it was a little element, she missed it. One hand absentmindedly clutching a dish towel, she stood in the silence, staring at the closed door.

She told herself, trying to excuse the discrepancy: "Maybe it's just work." Recently he has been under a lot of pressure. One shard of uncertainty, though, persisted and she couldn't completely discount it.

Victoria read Ethan his favorite dinosaur book using all the ridiculous voices he loved later as she got him ready for bed. Her thoughts kept drifting, revisiting the strange events of the evening, each one standing out in clearer perspective the more she thought about them even as Ethan laughed and curled up into her side.

She tucked Ethan in then headed to the bedroom. She looked down the hall toward the study, where the slightly ajar door let in the dim illumination of Daniel's computer screen. She paused briefly, considering whether to knock or maybe offer he come see her for a movie or simply chat.

Rather, she slid into bed by herself and gazed up at the ceiling while the house fell still around her. Deeper now, the odd sensation of detachment that had plagued her earlier in the day returned, weighing her around. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore the uncomfortable sensation that a wall—invisible but unquestionably real—had begun to shape their distance.