Megan would smile with embarrassment and look down at the table, hoping the moment would end quickly because arguing always made things worse. Scott finished his meal, pushed the plate away, and stood up from the table as if the entire evening bored him.
“Fine, I am going to watch television,” he said while walking toward the living room. “Clean this up.”
The smell of his cheap aftershave lingered behind him while the apartment filled with the sound of a television show that used canned laughter and exaggerated applause. Megan stayed in the kitchen washing dishes while warm water ran over her hands and her eyes drifted toward the window.
Outside the courtyard of the building was dark and wet from earlier rain, while yellow streetlights painted long reflections across the asphalt. Somewhere inside her memory there still existed another Megan who once spent entire afternoons drawing in notebooks and dreaming about becoming an illustrator.