While the Cup Cools

The coffee was cooling. Frost had settled on the window, and she looked down at the cup in both hands and boiled eggs as if nothing were the matter. He came into the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator, staring into it for a pointlessly long time. In between, there was none of the usual morning noise. “Weren't you leaving early today?” The words she let slip carefully had no force behind them. He only nodded slightly and closed the container of side dishes again. Beyond the shade of the frosted glass, what remained of the blue morning would not come across. On the table, a leftover piece of bread and a single empty cup. She got up, packed her lunch, and walked to the door. Behind her his lips moved as if he meant to say something, but the door closed, and the sound was buried under the steady hum of the refrigerator.