I never thought that house held life. I always heard the yelling and the shouting, the crying pleas: Please. I saw little shoulders stilled by the sound of heavy boots, smiles fading into hooded eyes and little fingers dropping forbidden toys. The windows were dark with curtains drawn when they opened in the night.
And then I watched , that day, those hands throw away a labor of love, pot after pot. And I looked into eyes that didn't see me.
His eyes were shining pools of fresh, raw grief. And I could feel it too.
I love her. I love her. I love her, He said to me. And my throat tightened and I had to look away.
The house is silent in the evenings now.