Chapter 17 - Dishes in the Sunlight
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Two years after my escape from the Rourkes, I stood barefoot in my sunlit kitchen on a crisp Sunday morning.
The night before, Julian and I had hosted a dinner party for a few friends. The sink was piled high with dirty dinner plates, wine glasses, and sauce-stained pans.
I stood there with my coffee mug, staring at the messy basin. Suddenly, a laugh bubbled up from my chest. It started as a chuckle and turned into a full, genuine laugh that echoed off the exposed brick walls.
Julian walked out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes, wearing an oversized gray t-shirt. "What's so funny at eight in the morning?"
"Nothing," I smiled, setting my mug down. "Just looking at the dishes."
Julian looked at the crowded sink, then looked back at me, understanding the silent history behind my expression. He didn't make a joke. He didn't minimize it.
Instead, he walked over to the counter, pulled a cotton dish towel off the hook, and turned on the hot water tap.
"Well," Julian said with a soft smile, "let's clean up together. You wash, I'll dry?"
I stood next to him, dipping a plate into the warm, soapy water.
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There were no speeches about 'a woman's place.' No cold orders from a mother-in-law. No husband lurking in the doorway watching to see if I would obey.
Just two equal partners, standing side-by-side in the sunlight, clearing away a mess together.
