Tabula Rasa

He smiled at her expectant face. "Wow, yum! Lovely!" He theatrically rubbed his stomach. She smiled back, pleased with herself. I may not be able to look after myself, she thought, but that doesn't mean I can't look after my husband. He forced down the rest of his meal, knowing how hard she would have tried. It would crush her if he didn't enjoy the dinner she had prepared. Always the salt. She always forgot the salt. Or when she would remember she would add too much. He talked about his day. Mentioning the good things that happened, skipping the bad things as always. She talked about hers, the small victories. She got up, she showered, she brushed her teeth. She even went to the shops. He smiled, encouraging. "I'll wash up, seeing a you cooked." They performed their nightly pantomime. She would say "No no, you have been at work all day" and start to collect the dishes. He would say "If you cook, I clean, those are the rules!" and he would take the dishes and wash up. He counted the hours before bed with a heavy heart.