“I spoke to the regional VP today,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Things are moving fast at the office.”
“I signed the paper today, David,” I said.
He paused, his hand resting on my shoulder.
“The reduction form?” he asked.
I nodded.
“That is wonderful news, Clara,” he said, his voice filled with praise that felt like a reward. “You made the right choice for us.”
He turned to walk toward the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the copy of the document.
I folded the hour reduction form, slid it into my drawer, and tried to believe that my sacrifice was the foundation of our future.
Three weeks later, David burst through the entryway at six in the evening with his wool coat already half unbuttoned. He dropped his briefcase on the entryway bench and pulled at the knot of his blue silk tie, loosening it with a single, sharp tug.
“They approved the regional realignment,” he said, his voice filling the small kitchen as he walked inside. “It is official, Clara. I am the new director of logistics.”
