“I know it has been hard,” I said, wanting to believe he was just exhausted from the hospital visits. “We are going to get through this.”
He did not answer, his eyes already drifting back toward the pocket where his phone was hidden.
At six o’clock, the rain started again, tapping a steady, uneven rhythm against the metal window frame in the living room.
A bowl of cold macaroni and cheese sat untouched on the low coffee table.
David sat on the far end of the sofa, his legs crossed, his face illuminated by the blue glow of his screen.
Sophie stood near his knees, holding a worn picture book about a red tractor. She did not press the book into his lap; she just held it out at arm’s length, waiting.
“Read it, Daddy?” she whispered.
David did not look up from the screen, his thumb continuing its steady flicking motion.
“I am far too tired tonight, Sophie,” he said. “Ask your mother to do it.”
