10

At sunset, the black and white dog stopped following the woman in the kitchen. Her ears perked up, and she looked at the woman as if she had the answer. The dog trotted to the front door and stared through her reflection at the headlights of cars driving by the house. None pulled into the driveway. Upstairs, a children’s show filled with canned laughter fought its way through to the first floor. The woman put a hand on the dog’s head. The black ears relaxed, only to resume their stance at the next set of lights. 

9

Periodic clicks and snaps echoed in the house. Some would say it was settling. Vibrations from the road and earth, shifting millimeters from warm to cold, sunk deeper into the ground. Inside the half-empty closet, the departed lingered like a ghost. The woman’s phone screen reflected a chaos of streaked fingerprints, the record of repetitive unlocking and scrolling, despite no new notifications.

8

The wall calendar was packed with tiny, loopy cursive. There were well-child visits, dance lessons, karate, a school play rehearsal, early work meetings, late work meetings, the due dates of all the bills. The details of their daily lives were evidence of obsession; the narrow-mindedness of the mundane; working too much outside the home; not being enough.

7

Christmas Eve, the man drove to the animal shelter and brought back the black and white dog surrendered because of her energy. The dog licked everyone, wagging her tail until they all the couple said goodnight to the children. Nestled at the foot of their bed, the dog slept as if this had always been her space. She sighed long and satisfied.

6

When the fever persisted, they made a trip to urgent care. They left with a hefty bill and the recommendation to call the pediatrician in the morning. Useless, the woman said. Before the drug store closed, the man rushed to purchase over-the-counter remedies. Cough syrup, Pedialyte, popsicles, a get-well bear. Together, they sat vigil by their daughter’s bed until the forehead cooled, and the breathing slowed into the rhythmic breaths of sleep.

5

The man and the woman stayed seated at the dinner table. Nothing had been cleared. In the next room, the boy and the girl watched a show about wealthy, smart-aleck teens. “What are we going to do? We’re not making it to the next paycheck,” the woman said. The man rubbed his eyes. “I’ll ask John about weekends,” he said. The bar next door roared. An announcer screamed an elongated “Goooal!” 

4

The third-floor apartment offered a 180-degree view of the Fourth of July. Every town in the vicinity erupted in a staggered celebration of red, white, and blue. She held the baby girl across her waist and rocked back and forth as the muffled explosions continued.

3

The labor pains, of course, started in the quiet early hours of the day. Through the hazy morning, he maneuvered through the streets, speeding through the city despite the sparse traffic. She searched for his hand and squeezed it as the baby boy was born. With the newborn to her chest, the man leaned over and kissed her.

2

Come by, she begged, but he knew. Just say it, he said. Blocks away from her apartment, he heard the word “father.” When he arrived, her eyes were red. I’m not ready, she said. He asked for her decision and nodded. 

1

Each morning, he observed her waiting for the train. She read a paperback on the platform and into the heart of the city. The passing trains screeched by them at alarming speeds. He inched closer to her, and she smiled. His heart tightened. He opened his mouth to introduce himself and stuck out a cordial hand. She laughed and shook it.