Confessional

After the argument with her husband Sunday, they took separate cars to church. They sat together, but without touching. It was a silly argument, she saw now. It had been a few days. She'd been so adamant it was his fault.

She was right. It was his, too. After a few days, she accepted certain facts and went to confession.

All the rumination helped prep what she had to say. It was important to wear a nice suit. She had fought about it: was it a crime of vanity? No, just respect for the holiness of the church.

The priest nodded as she stood up. As she opened the door, she saw the next person in line for the confessional was her husband.

The dinner that night was quiet, expensive and fulfilling.