Marriage

By Cullen Corkery

I come home late with no answers.

The kitchen light is on and she is sitting there in a bathrobe with an empty wine bottle and a stained glass. I look around, then take a seat at the table, sitting across from her. “We should probably talk,” I tell her, ashamed.

“Tomorrow,” she replies.

I get up from the table and head upstairs. From the bedroom I can hear her pouring a glass of water, shutting the light off, and coming upstairs. She lays down next to me in bed and we go to sleep as the sun rises.

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Cullen Corkery writes to better understand the side of ourselves we hide from others.