I locked my wife in the pantry under the stairs

had been pale. She kept resting her hand on her stomach and flinching at every sound. I kept telling myself she was tired. Work, the house, my mother, her endless comments. I saw all of it, but I pretended it wasn’t serious.

“The soup is too sour,” my mother said, setting her spoon down.

Emily closed her eyes.

“That’s how you told me to make it, Mrs. continue reading …