“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I was on the phone making frantic calls to our friend Casey Medsker-Saban when I heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He came back, finally, and although my first thought was absolute relief that nothing had actually happened, my gaze soon fell on the myriad bags of…stuff that he held in his hands. Convenience store bags, filled with an assortment of snacks, microwaveable gyoza and cans of coffee. He was also holding in his other hand what was clearly an assortment of packed oden, still warm despite the chilly outside air.

“Where were you?” I wanted to ask but the worry I had faced when uncertain of my husband’s safety and whereabouts turned to anger in an instant, and it was all I could do to keep silent instead of exploding at the figure standing in the doorway, holding supper.

It was beyond me how some people can be totally ignorant of others around him, selfishly thinking about food when others worry. If he was that unsatisfied with my cooking he could have at least told me so. No wonder there was leftover karaage after dinner. I turned about and made my way through the apartment, heading to the bedroom. I had had enough; it was late and tomorrow was a workday, meaning that I could already look forward to a tired commute on the packed morning train. “The dishes are in the sink. Turn off the lights when you’re done,” I said tersely before going in to the bedroom. The man can do the dishes for once; I certainly do all the cooking. I slammed the door shut behind me, forgetting for an instant that Casey was asleep in the next room. I realised my mistake a second later but the creak of his bedroom door and his light footsteps moments later confirmed that I had indeed woken him, as a brief round of expletives temptingly crept up to the edge of my tongue.

“What’s going on mommy?” he peeked in through the door to ask. I moved towards him, bending down and offering a hug in place of a proper answer. “Mommy and daddy are fighting again” isn’t something you willingly tell your child late at night before a school day. Besides, if anyone should be offering any explanations Mr. I Got Supper can provide. He should be well enough equipped for that much.”

Go to Part 9.

“I just finished putting Casey to sleep. It took a while because he started playing with his Pokemon plushies again after everyone left. I closed the door to his room quietly, leaving it open just a crack so that we could check in on him later.

After leaving the room however another concern came to mind. Where’s my husband? He should’ve been back by now, even a while ago. I went in to the dining room to make sure and everything was as it had been. The table still had a slight spill on it from where Casey had knocked over the soy sauce during dinner, the chairs were still left at odd angles. I moved over to the sink where my husband had been last before going out to the convenience store to “get some coffee“. Sure the store wasn’t right by our place, but it still shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back. I was worried. Did something happen?

The dishes were still piled up in the sink, unwashed. The top plate was the one with the batch of home-made karaage on it and I picked up a leftover piece and munched absent-mindedly. It was cold and I could taste more of the oil than the chicken. I didn’t know my karaage tasted this bad. I wasn’t hungry.

Glancing over to the dining table once again I spotted my handphone in the corner and reached over to make a call. The dial tone, one ring, two and I realised that my husband had left his phone in the pocket of his coat that he had slung over his chair during dinner. He hadn’t taken it with him, a fact that I already knew but confirmed by reaching over the table and retrieving the ringing device, sullying my arm with spilled soy sauce in the process. I didn’t feel like wiping it off just yet. I had other things to think about.

Maybe he was just delayed for some reason. Maybe he’s reading comics by the magazine aisle and here I am worrying myself silly for no reason at all. My mind came up with a bunch of possibilities of where my husband could be, but a quick glance at the clock was enough to tell me that none of those possibilities could be true. He wouldn’t be out this late, this long, especially without his phone and jacket. It was cold outside too. I clutched my own phone in my hands, watching a line of soy sauce make its way slowly down my arm as I lifted. I wanted to leave the apartment, to put on my coat, shoes and head outside even though I didn’t have any make-up on. I wanted to head towards the store and see for myself if anything had happened…but I couldn’t. Casey was still sleeping just a few meters away. I hope the ringing hadn’t woken him up, but it also meant that I couldn’t leave him alone in the home this late. What if he woke up to find that no one else was at home? No, I was stuck here.

And I didn’t know what to do..”

Go to Part 7.

“I just finished putting Casey to sleep. It took a while because he started playing with his Pokemon plushies again after everyone left. I closed the door to his room quietly, leaving it open just a crack so that we could check in on him later.

After leaving the room however another concern came to mind. Where’s my husband? He should’ve been back by now, even a while ago. I went in to the dining room to make sure and everything was as it had been. The table still had a slight spill on it from where Casey had knocked over the soy sauce during dinner, the chairs were still left at odd angles. I moved over to the sink where my husband had been last before going out to the convenience store to “get some coffee“. Sure the store wasn’t right by our place, but it still shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back. I was worried. Did something happen?

The dishes were still piled up in the sink, unwashed. The top plate was the one with the batch of home-made karaage on it and I picked up a leftover piece and munched absent-mindedly. It was cold and I could taste more of the oil than the chicken. I didn’t know my karaage tasted this bad. I wasn’t hungry.

Glancing over to the dining table once again I spotted my handphone in the corner and reached over to make a call. The dial tone, one ring, two and I realised that my husband had left his phone in the pocket of his coat that he had slung over his chair during dinner. He hadn’t taken it with him, a fact that I already knew but confirmed by reaching over the table and retrieving the ringing device, sullying my arm with spilled soy sauce in the process. I didn’t feel like wiping it off just yet. I had other things to think about.

Maybe he was just delayed for some reason. Maybe he’s reading comics by the magazine aisle and here I am worrying myself silly for no reason at all. My mind came up with a bunch of possibilities of where my husband could be, but a quick glance at the clock was enough to tell me that none of those possibilities could be true. He wouldn’t be out this late, this long, especially without his phone and jacket. It was cold outside too. I clutched my own phone in my hands, watching a line of soy sauce make its way slowly down my arm as I lifted. I wanted to leave the apartment, to put on my coat, shoes and head outside even though I didn’t have any make-up on. I wanted to head towards the store and see for myself if anything had happened…but I couldn’t. Casey was still sleeping just a few meters away. I hope the ringing hadn’t woken him up, but it also meant that I couldn’t leave him alone in the home this late. What if he woke up to find that no one else was at home? No, I was stuck here.

And I didn’t know what to do..”

Go to Part 7.

“I just finished putting Casey to sleep. It took a while because he started playing with his Pokemon plushies again after everyone left. I closed the door to his room quietly, leaving it open just a crack so that we could check in on him later.

After leaving the room however another concern came to mind. Where’s my husband? He should’ve been back by now, even a while ago. I went in to the dining room to make sure and everything was as it had been. The table still had a slight spill on it from where Casey had knocked over the soy sauce during dinner, the chairs were still left at odd angles. I moved over to the sink where my husband had been last before going out to the convenience store to “get some coffee“. Sure the store wasn’t right by our place, but it still shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back. I was worried. Did something happen?

The dishes were still piled up in the sink, unwashed. The top plate was the one with the batch of home-made karaage on it and I picked up a leftover piece and munched absent-mindedly. It was cold and I could taste more of the oil than the chicken. I didn’t know my karaage tasted this bad. I wasn’t hungry.

Glancing over to the dining table once again I spotted my handphone in the corner and reached over to make a call. The dial tone, one ring, two and I realised that my husband had left his phone in the pocket of his coat that he had slung over his chair during dinner. He hadn’t taken it with him, a fact that I already knew but confirmed by reaching over the table and retrieving the ringing device, sullying my arm with spilled soy sauce in the process. I didn’t feel like wiping it off just yet. I had other things to think about.

Maybe he was just delayed for some reason. Maybe he’s reading comics by the magazine aisle and here I am worrying myself silly for no reason at all. My mind came up with a bunch of possibilities of where my husband could be, but a quick glance at the clock was enough to tell me that none of those possibilities could be true. He wouldn’t be out this late, this long, especially without his phone and jacket. It was cold outside too. I clutched my own phone in my hands, watching a line of soy sauce make its way slowly down my arm as I lifted. I wanted to leave the apartment, to put on my coat, shoes and head outside even though I didn’t have any make-up on. I wanted to head towards the store and see for myself if anything had happened…but I couldn’t. Casey was still sleeping just a few meters away. I hope the ringing hadn’t woken him up, but it also meant that I couldn’t leave him alone in the home this late. What if he woke up to find that no one else was at home? No, I was stuck here.

And I didn’t know what to do..”

Go to Part 7.

“I just finished putting Casey to sleep. It took a while because he started playing with his Pokemon plushies again after everyone left. I closed the door to his room quietly, leaving it open just a crack so that we could check in on him later.

After leaving the room however another concern came to mind. Where’s my husband? He should’ve been back by now, even a while ago. I went in to the dining room to make sure and everything was as it had been. The table still had a slight spill on it from where Casey had knocked over the soy sauce during dinner, the chairs were still left at odd angles. I moved over to the sink where my husband had been last before going out to the convenience store to “get some coffee“. Sure the store wasn’t right by our place, but it still shouldn’t have taken him this long to come back. I was worried. Did something happen?

The dishes were still piled up in the sink, unwashed. The top plate was the one with the batch of home-made karaage on it and I picked up a leftover piece and munched absent-mindedly. It was cold and I could taste more of the oil than the chicken. I didn’t know my karaage tasted this bad. I wasn’t hungry.

Glancing over to the dining table once again I spotted my handphone in the corner and reached over to make a call. The dial tone, one ring, two and I realised that my husband had left his phone in the pocket of his coat that he had slung over his chair during dinner. He hadn’t taken it with him, a fact that I already knew but confirmed by reaching over the table and retrieving the ringing device, sullying my arm with spilled soy sauce in the process. I didn’t feel like wiping it off just yet. I had other things to think about.

Maybe he was just delayed for some reason. Maybe he’s reading comics by the magazine aisle and here I am worrying myself silly for no reason at all. My mind came up with a bunch of possibilities of where my husband could be, but a quick glance at the clock was enough to tell me that none of those possibilities could be true. He wouldn’t be out this late, this long, especially without his phone and jacket. It was cold outside too. I clutched my own phone in my hands, watching a line of soy sauce make its way slowly down my arm as I lifted. I wanted to leave the apartment, to put on my coat, shoes and head outside even though I didn’t have any make-up on. I wanted to head towards the store and see for myself if anything had happened…but I couldn’t. Casey was still sleeping just a few meters away. I hope the ringing hadn’t woken him up, but it also meant that I couldn’t leave him alone in the home this late. What if he woke up to find that no one else was at home? No, I was stuck here.

And I didn’t know what to do..”

Go to Part 7.