Margaret H. married young, as expected. She was described as “well-mannered” and “steady,” words that followed her from school into marriage. Before the child was born, she worked briefly in an office, where she learned how to keep notes neat and conversations brief. Afterward, she stayed home. People said she was lucky. She learned not to disagree. Jimmy is six. He has learned which questions end conversations and which ones shorten them.

Margaret: (standing at the counter, smoothing her apron twice) Sit properly. The chair will wobble if you don’t.

Jimmy: (adjusts himself quickly) Like this?

Margaret: (nods, relieved) Yes. That’s better.

(She sets a plate down, aligning the cutlery precisely. She does not serve herself.)

Jimmy: (after a moment) You’re not eating.

Margaret: (eyes fixed on the table) Later.

(The clock ticks. She folds her hands to keep them still.)

Jimmy: Mom… did I do something wrong?

Margaret: (too fast, then quieter) No. You would know if you had.

(He accepts this, lowers his eyes, eats slowly.)

Jimmy: (small voice) Okay.

(A long pause.)

Jimmy: Mom… are you tired?

(Her jaw tightens. She breathes in carefully.)

Margaret: Tired means the day was useful.

(She stands, pushing her chair in even though she barely sat.)

Margaret: Finish up. Then wash your hands for bed.

Jimmy: Yes, Mom.

(He slides off the chair, hesitates as if he might say something more, then leaves.)

(She remains standing. The food on her plate goes untouched.)

Margaret: (very softly, to the empty room) Useful is enough.

(The light hums. The clock keeps time.)