Evening in a neatly kept suburban kitchen. Margaret has just finished washing the dishes. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound. Her friend Evelyn sits at the table, sipping tea.

Evelyn: “Margaret… you look tired. Was the day particularly busy?”

Margaret: wiping her hands on a dish towel, forcing a smile “Oh… you know, the usual. The children needed help with their homework, the kitchen demanded attention, and… Henry wanted his papers organized for tomorrow.” pauses, glances at the window “It all seems endless, really.”

Evelyn: leaning forward “Doesn’t it… get to you? All this day-in, day-out… work that no one notices?”

Margaret: a faint sigh escapes her; she looks down at her hands “Not exactly… I suppose that’s the way things are. One is meant to keep the home… comfortable. Presentable. He likes things tidy. That’s… important.” her smile tightens, and there’s a fleeting flash of weariness in her eyes

Evelyn: softly “But Margaret… don’t you ever wish for something… more? Something just for yourself?”

Margaret: her voice drops slightly, almost a whisper “More… yes. I sometimes imagine… walking through the park alone, just… breathing. Or reading a book without interruption. Or even… taking the car and driving somewhere… anywhere.” she bites her lip and straightens quickly, forcing cheerfulness “But… that wouldn’t be proper, would it?”

Evelyn: gently “Who says it isn’t, Margaret? You deserve… happiness too.”

Margaret: her hands tremble slightly as she folds a dish towel “Happiness… yes. I suppose I do. But it’s… complicated. One is supposed to be grateful for what one has. And I… I am. Truly. I have a husband who is… well… respectable. Children who are healthy. A home… clean and warm.” she laughs nervously, a little too loud “What more could one want?”

Evelyn: reaching across the table, placing a hand on Margaret’s “Margaret, you deserve more than polite duty and silence. You deserve… to be seen. To be… felt.”

Margaret: her eyes flicker with emotion—fear, longing, maybe even guilt “Seen… felt… yes. But…” she pauses, swallowing hard “One cannot… one cannot upset the balance, Evelyn. One must keep the house, keep Henry happy… keep the world from noticing that one sometimes… wants more than this.”

Evelyn: “You’re not just a housewife, Margaret. You’re… a person.”

Margaret: softly, almost to herself, staring out the kitchen window at the darkened street “A person… yes. I sometimes forget. Sometimes it feels like… I am nothing but a set of tasks, a collection of smiles and meals and clean laundry. If I dared… just once… to be selfish… what would happen? Would Henry… would they… notice me at all?”

She turns back to Evelyn, who watches her with a mixture of pity and understanding. Margaret’s eyes glimmer with unspoken dreams, buried but not entirely extinguished