We joked about spoiling grandchildren someday. We imagined a peaceful life where the pressure would finally disappear.
The sky above Seattle looked dark and swollen with rain as I turned onto our quiet residential street. Autumn leaves covered the sidewalks in layers of copper and crimson.
Robert usually worked from home on Thursdays. His job as a senior financial consultant often required uninterrupted hours reviewing portfolios inside his home office.
Earlier that morning I sent him a message before my closing meeting. I wrote that I had enormous news and planned to come home early.
He replied with a simple thumbs up emoji. After thirty eight years of marriage I had learned that Robert rarely used words in text messages.
As I approached our house I noticed a silver Honda parked across the street. The car looked ordinary except for a dent near the rear bumper.
Our neighbor often hosted piano students and church meetings so an unfamiliar car did not seem unusual. I parked in our driveway and looked at the thick blanket of leaves covering the yard.
Robert had been planning to rake them for weeks. I smiled while imagining that soon we could hire someone else to handle every chore.