She looked at the check. It was generous. It was also an ending she hadn't prepared for.
The "fallen" part wasn't dramatic. She didn't trip or stumble. It was slower. She had fallen out of the rhythm of a real life. She had traded the chaos of love for the order of a job, and somewhere between the grocery list and the guest-room closet, she had forgotten she was an actress playing a wife. The stage had been small—a two-bedroom condo, a weekly calendar, a drawer with her toothbrush. But the curtain had come down anyway. fallen part-time wife
The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator. It was 2:00 PM on a Tuesday. A year ago, she would have been at her desk, a different kind of quiet. Today, she was standing over a sink of soapy water, scrubbing a plate that wasn't hers. She looked at the check