Sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to be going over his day writings, he glanced her way.  Humming an old lullaby to herself, she was cleaning their dishes, like she always did. She didn’t seem unhappy, but how could he be sure?

Sometimes at night, when the darkness set, and the birds stopped singing, he had his doubts.

He was aware of his alienness. He had known for decades that he wasn’t fit for this world. Even as a child, he had been constantly mocked for not blending in. His early and odd height had soon made him bad at games and sports the other boys seemed to enjoy. His strange looks didn’t please the girls of his parish. He was doomed to loneliness from the start.

She put the last plate back in the cupboard, and disappeared into her bedroom. Soon, he would hear the water filling her bath…