But I had never been the kind of wife who packed lunches every morning.
Not because I did not care. That was important. I cared more than I knew how to say sometimes. I was a stay-at-home mom, and most of my days were built around keeping our house from falling into chaos.
Toys under the couch. Crumbs on the counter. Tiny socks disappearing like they had been swallowed by the washing machine.
Jeremy had a big corporate job in one of those tall glass office buildings downtown, the kind where people spoke quickly into phones and looked important even when they were just buying coffee.
He always told me he had a cafeteria at work.
"The food is fine," he said the first time I asked if he wanted me to pack something.
"Fine" was one of Jeremy's favorite words. It meant everything and nothing.
"Are you tired?"
"I'm fine."
