Disclaimer: This article is intended to be tongue-in-cheek. Steve does not exist and any resemblance he holds to any real people is purely coincidental.
It was Tuesday morning. Steve rolled over and sleepily groped the empty space on the bed next to him, his wife was gone.
He untangled himself from the sheets and got up. “Carol?” he called through the house. Nothing. Carol was already at work.
Steve walked past the twins’ room, which was empty but for a few Lego bricks strewn across the rug.
He picked them up and popped them in their box without a moment’s hesitation. Good one, me, he thought.
Steve trod along the corridor past the vacuum. Carol had run out of time to put it away before the school run.
No matter, thought Steve, she’ll get to it later.
It was a quarter to nine, Time to get a wriggle on. Steve was a freelance graphic designer.
Happily, the percolator was still warm on the stove, so he poured himself a coffee. There was only just enough milk—Carol had been a little overzealous with the boys’ cereal that morning.
He grabbed a cookie from the jar on the bench. He loved cookies and almost always ate them all.
The rest of the day passed without much ado. Over lunch, Steve read at moving article about a dad who bought his ex-wife flowers for her birthday.
What a nice dude, he mused.
IDKNSDI: The single mum teaching women to get smart about money. Post continues...
Around three a text came through: "Is there any milk? I need some for the bechamel - C".