Winter dawned over the Little Palace as you set the dinner table with finest plates and cutlery you owned, carefully placing forks and spoons in their places, rubbing dust from glasses. You poured the dinner you spent an hour making into two bowls, set across from each other at the terribly long dining table before your husband walked in, eyes with dark bags as they never once met your own. He was so obsessed with the fold, expanding his work, that it was driving your relationship to nothing.