Emma stared at the socks. Then at him. Then at the door to the house they’d bought together, the one with the leaky faucet and the crooked shelf and the bedroom where they’d stopped sleeping close.
Emma’s eyes stung. She looked down at her hands. The ring. The rainbows. Cold Feet
Emma nodded. She did know. She’d married him anyway, because his quiet had once felt like safety. Now it felt like a locked door. Emma stared at the socks
“Put them on me. Like you did before.” Cold Feet