The ripped open envelope lay on the kitchen table

It was still there when Laura came down for breakfast, wrapped in her winter dressing gown, sheepskin slippers warming her feet on the cold tiles. The optimist in her had expected it to disappear overnight, taking away its hastily ripped edges and its problems. The realist part of her sighed. She would have to deal with it. She cast an aggrieved look back the way she had come. Frankly, it was his issue to worry over and manage, but he could never see it the way she could.

Laura simply had to...