Fleur sat in her chair and put some food on her plate, picking at it with her fork and having no idea how to have this conversation. Was this what marriage became? Going around in circles about the things that upset you? Ignoring them until all that was left was apathy?
"I cooked something for dinner last night," she said simply. And he hadn't come home. She tore at her fish with her fork and ate a little bit of it. It was well seasoned yes, not as terrible as the English usually made it, but it tasted like dirt in her mouth.
"Yes." She cleared her throat and took a drink of her wine. "They're better." She tried some of the shrimp, which was a moderate improvement. "You didn't come home the other night until late."