She could never read him. His intentions were strange to her but his ego was not. They had a lot of differences. But one thing was common. The ritual of having family meals at the dining table. The two of them and their child shared a meal prepared by her.
She felt her aura had morphed into a shield, reflecting away his hurtful words. She believed she was strong. She told herself that after years of rusty knotted matrimony, she was indifferent and dispassionate. But her face mirrored her inner churning. While she sat at the dining table in front of her kid, her husband was at the pinnacle of the silent but intense triangle formed on that table for four.
She could never read him despite sitting so close together but the little soul in front of her was the recipient of all her emotions. The emotions she thought she had suppressed lashed out at the young soul who didn’t have even the vaguest idea about marriage.Once he went up to her in his cute Scooby Doo pyjamas. She was putting the leftovers in the refrigerator. As she shut the door and turned, he said in his soft voice, “Mom, why do make these tense faces at the dining table?”
Now she has only one face in front of her child. A face with a little smile.