Spilled Milk

They sat across from one another, as they have done many mornings for many years. Their marriage being a long one. The wife's seat faced the closed window, the curtains pushed aside to view the barren tree that stood outside. The husband's seat faced the refrigerator. She drank her tea. He drank his coffee, he preferred it black. He looked up from reading the paper to his wife, and smiled. Her gray eyes met his dark brown, she frowned.  He winked, and she scowled.

"How'd you sleep, Beth?" The husband asked.

"Fine." She returned to her breakfast. He turned around in his seat to look out the window.

"It's going to be a fine day. Not too hot; I think I'll walk to work today." He commented. The wife grunted in answer. He sighed in resignation while turning back around to face his wife.

"There's an interesting article in the paper. It says they're going to kick that feller Nixon out of office." He reported, only to be answered with silence. Frustrated, the husband folded the newspaper and shoved it away.

"It's too early for this black mood. What's stuck in your craw, woman?" The man queried. It was her turn to sigh now, but in impatience.

"Nothing, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Well, you'd best fix whatever it is or your whole day will be shot to hell. Mine as well I'd reckon. I don't need your bad mood rubbing off on me." The women shrugged in indifference. The couple continued their breakfast in comfortable silence that came with twenty years of marriage. A pitcher of milk sat on the table. The wife reached for it to pour the ice-cold beverage into a glass.

Outside, the sounds of the neighborhood children running to school filtered through the thin walls of the kitchen. The wife lifted her head sharply to watch them run past the window. Longing filled her eyes, anger seized her heart. It was unfair, she'd taken all the necessary steps.  She'd married at a young age to a man who could support her and the children they should of had. They'd even purchased a three bedroom house in anticipation. Throughout the years, the woman had learned to cook for a family and shop on a budget. She'd looked at cradles, knitted baby blankets, and prayed in church. All the preparation and hope for nothing. She'd never even been pregnant. The two rooms in the house stood lonely and empty, like her heart.

The husband watched the emotion flooding his wife's eyes, and smiled slightly to himself.

"No use crying over what you can't have. You shouldn't dwell on it." He said. She blinked back old tears, and shifted her gaze to her husband's.

"It's not fair, Robert. We tried so hard." She said in a small voice.

"YOU tried hard. I didn't." He mumbled, taking the last bite of eggs from his plate and pushing it to the side. The wife looked at him in puzzlement. He rolled his eyes toward the heavens in annoyance.

"Do you want to know a secret Beth?" He asked. She continued to look at him, confused. Her head shaking slightly in not understanding.

"I've never wanted children, never planned on having them." He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, and pushed his chair back to stand.

"What are you saying?" His wife asked. He smiled again. Her husband smiled often, as if amused at the world and everyone in it. It drove her insane at times, like now for instance. He grabbed his hat from the table and, very deliberately, tipped over her glass. The white milk spilled onto the tablecloth. The husband donned his hat and strode to the door.

"On that note, I'm off. See you at dinner." He called out before exiting, shutting the door firmly behind him. The wife remained in her seat, frozen. The milk ice-cold as is it dripped onto her lap. She watched the spreading mess.