“Where’s my dinner?” her husband demanded—while socking money away for a Jeep. I answered calmly: the food is at the store, and my son and I are flying off on vacation
Mikhail shoved his plate away, annoyed. At the bottom sat a lonely portion of plain pasta, barely sprinkled with cheap grated cheese. The sight of that “dinner” filled him with a heavy, bitter resentment—he’d busted his back on a construction site all day, and this was the “welcome” waiting for him at home. “Valya, I … Read more