Marcus arrived an hour later, hidden behind a massive bouquet of vibrant daisies.
“Look what I got for you, babe!” he announced, handing them to Sarah as she came back down. They stood in the kitchen, a portrait of a successful, loving couple, while I stood three feet away, holding a dirty dish towel.
I felt like a faded photograph—present in the room, but no longer part of the living memory. They celebrated their “wins” while I was the steady breeze that kept their kite flying. Without me, they would have hit the ground months ago, yet they didn’t even notice the wind.
