By nine that evening, the house was entirely quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards. The scent of the floor wax had faded, replaced by the damp smell of rain starting outside.
Daniel was sitting at the oak desk in our small home office, his face illuminated by the bright blue glow of his laptop screen.
I stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Are you coming to bed soon?”
“I have to finish these projections,” he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “The bank wants the updated cash flow statement by Monday morning.”
“Let me help,” I said, stepping into the room. “I ran the payroll ledger for ten years, Daniel. I can balance the accounts in half the time.”
He shut the laptop lid halfway, blocking my view of the screen. The sudden movement cast his face into deep shadow.
“The system has changed since we moved to the cloud,” he said. “It is a different interface now.”
“I know how to use a cloud database,” I said.
