dividing duty

It was an interesting time. She focused on making the tiny house into a home, and she was very good at it. She had a nice touch about decorating, fixing things. She was good at selecting colors – wall papers, paints, bedding, wall hangings. He dove headlong into his work, for he was driven to being the bread-winner. It was a perfect division of duty, an arrangement that would allow their relationship to survive easy for at least 15 years, until he began to work from home. But for now, all was good.

To be fair, he wasn’t the easiest person with whom to live. The demons that beset him, well, he wouldn’t understand them until she left him. Indeed, he thought he’d escaped unscathed the dysfunction of his family. He hadn’t. Not by any means. Not that she saw that, either, though it was, of course, most important for him to see that, not her.