I blame my husband for not shutting them properly. I feel the need to get up and perform my nightly ritual of going into the children’s bedrooms to check that everything’s all right. And yet something stops me. Is it because I had too much to drink? I start to think about the waves I saw earlier at the lake, about the clouds that have now dissipated and the person who was with me. I remember very little about the nightclub; we both thought the music was horrible and the atmosphere extremely dull. It wasn’t long before we were back at our respective computers.What about all those things I said to Jacob this afternoon? Shouldn’t I take a little time to think about them myself?This room is suffocating me. My perfect husband is asleep beside me; he doesn’t seem to have heard the wind rattling the windows. I imagine Jacob lying beside his wife and telling her everything he feels (although I’m sure he won’t say anything about me). He’s relieved to have someone who can help him when he feels most alone.
