Hank got out of the car and walked toward the front door. His eyes were half-open because of the brightness of the afternoon sun. Noticing a pile of folded newspaper beside the doormat, he pushed it aside with his foot and used a key to open the door. When he got inside the house, his eyes met a wilting plant and the noise of a television and the roaring sound of a washing machine annoyed his ears. He picked up the brown, crisp leaves surrounding the pot and went straight to his office. Irate, he slammed the door and threw the leaves into the trashcan.

He removed his overcoat, hanged it by the hook on the door, and sat in front of the computer. After turning it on, he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. When he noticed that the computer had finished booting up, he dusted the keyboard and the monitor with his hands and started typing his front-page article for the next day.

Minutes after, Janine went inside the room, suddenly opening the door, which startled Hank.

“Sign,” Janine told her husband with blunt eyes and a low-pitched, almost hoarse voice. Hank turned his head up to Janine, who was standing beside him, and his wife’s unblinking stern eyes. He let out a sigh as he saw Janine’s arms, damp with bubbles, stretch out with a brown folder and a pen clipped to it.

“Sign,” Janine said hastily, her lips slightly protruding and the sound of the washing machine resounding in her ears.

“Janine, I can’t—”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I disturbing you? Do you want to do this later, after you finish that? Or the day after tomorrow? Or maybe next week? Fine, it’s fine with me. I have all the time in the world. Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Or do you like tea? Or maybe—”

“Janine, stop doing that—”

“Sign.”

Hank’s face broke down with distress while Janine’s was unyielding. The two looked at each other’s eyes for a moment – the moment that took six months to happen, the moment when their eyes told everything that they kept to themselves for a long time.

“We can still do this. We can still work things out,” Hank uttered teary-eyed.

Janine bowed her head and said with a shaky voice, “I can’t always wait for you. The room, the crib, the toys, those can wait, but I—I can’t. We’re not getting any younger, Hank. And I need a husband.”

Hank stood up and tried to touch his wife’s arms, but Janine stepped back and handed out to him the folder with her eyes looking down. Then he suddenly grabbed her hand, took the folder, and placed it on top of the monitor. Shaken and out of breath, Janine looked up with her mouth slightly open. He removed his eyeglasses as he gazed intently at his wife. He took hold of her back and pulled her close to his body. Soon, their lips touched and their eyes were wet. But after a while, Janine pushed herself away from her husband’s arms and took the folder.

“I’m going to put this in the baby’s room. Sign there.”

“I don’t want to, baby. I still love you.”

“No, you love that,” Janine said, pointing at the computer screen, then walked away.

Hank slowly sat down as he watched Janine walk out the room, not closing the door. When he lost sight of his wife, he wiped his eyes and put on his eyeglasses. His eyes got fixed to the wall and imagined the crib in the baby’s room as he folded is arms. But when he noticed that the noise outside was gone, his sight slowly turned to the floor, then outside through the half-open smoggy window, and then to the monitor. He extended his arms, leaned forward, and continued pressing the letters of the keyboard to the words of his article.

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