Don returned home from his business trip to St. Louis, and a brief stop by his mother’s place, to find his wife, Hanna, in a deep funk. He would often find her leaned over, resting on her elbows with her round face in her hands, her dull red hair disheveled and covering everything. When he asked how she was feeling, if anything was wrong, she’d alternately reply with seemingly random emotions.
“No, no! Everything’s great!” she’d quickly reply, a fake smile splitting her face ear-to-ear.
“Ugh. Don’t ask. There’s nothing you could do about it anyway,” she’d mumble, not meeting his eyes.
“What? Like you care? Why are you even home? I may as well be living by myself, for all you’re around!’ she’d curse, eyes wide and wild.
Her manic responses and red-rimmed eyes left him worried, confused and not the least afraid that his wife was losing her mind. Don was intimidated by the idea of having to take care of this, Hanna had always been deeply independent and ran the family, house and herself with masterful efficiency. Their relationship seemed a perfect fit, he brought home the bacon, so to speak, and she ran the homestead.