The house is silent. Kid is with the grandparents. Wife sleeping in. It’s almost noon.

I’ve been up since seven.

     I know you need your sleep.
     I know you are tired.

I feel like I have to tiptoe around, as if every creak of the floor could wake you up. I worry that any sound might break the calm rhythm of your snoring.

I’m careful brewing the coffee, checking the mail, feeding the cat. Writing this.

You don’t notice these things -- but then again, that's the whole point.

     I know this is what you want.

               Covers. Quiet. Peace. Sanctuary.
               …more covers.

Yesterday was our anniversary. Dinner, movies, a bow-topped bag filled with baubles to make you smile. But I knew the gift you really wanted. The thing you were really wishing for.

     This gift I’m giving you now.

I would much rather give you something else. But I know this is what you really want. What you really need.

I lean in the doorway to check on you. You're enjoying your gift.

Happy anniversary, I whisper.