Begrudgingly rising from his bed George Domain, age fourty-four, cracks his back and reaches his arms towards the ceiling and asks his wife, Catherine, what time breakfast will be ready. She responds with a loud yawn, rolling of her eyes, and slowly sits up telling him, “It’ll be ten minutes, I’ll cook us some eggs.” George acknowledges this with a curt nod as he walks into the bathroom, grabbing a towel from a clean pile of laundry on their dresser.

As he enters the bathroom George looks at him-self, middle aged, graying salt and pepper hair, matted chest hair, thin, almost sickly looking, six feet tall and a tad less muscle than any self-respecting man would have. Look at me, jesus! George thinks to himself as he undresses and steps into the shower. Just another day, another fucking day to live through, stepping out of the shower and drying himself off, Catherine yells from the kitchen, “It’ll be ready in a couple minutes!” George does not even bother responding, What’s the point in even yelling back, I doubt she would even hear me. After he dries he puts on his suit and carries the jacket on through the bathroom, through the bathroom and on into the kitchen where sitting on a pine wood table set for four there sits one plate, two eggs, a piece of toast, and a mug of coffee steaming. The light shines in from the window on the door, across from where he entered, and Catherine is rummaging through the fridge to his right. “So, how did you sleep Cathy?” George asks as he sits down in the chair, grabbing the fork and knife.

“Well George, about as well as I can, yourself?”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Catherine, having found her orange juice, was pouring a glass at the counter adjacent to the fridge. When done she silently placed the orange juice container back into its proper place and went to sit across from her husband without so much as a sound between them besides the slow crunching of George eating his toast. Sitting down Catherine asks her husband,

“Do you plan on working late tonight at all, or should I have dinner ready by six?”

“I don’t believe I have to, but you really don’t have to get ready, I can have my turn making it every once in a while.”

“No, no, no, I’ve got it George, you just make sure you bring me home a nice bottle of wine on your way home.”

“Will do.”

After which he got up, left his plate where it lie and walked to the door, jacket in hand, keys in his pocket.

“George, I know.”

Catherine, told him as he closed the door. What does she know? It’s been eight months since little Samantha has gone missing, I use to pick her up from school. I know it must be awful for her too, but jesus, doesn’t a man have a chance to grieve. Entering his car and placing the keys in the ignition he glances up and sees Catherine staring down at him from the window, What I would give to have my family back.