Refilling My Mug During The Wait
The tension in the quiet house was becoming almost unbearable to sit through. I walked back to the coffee machine and refilled my ceramic mug.
The rich aroma filled the kitchen, but I barely noticed the smell. My eyes remained glued to the movement on the small digital display in my hand.
Every small shift in position brought him closer to the end of his marriage. I took a sip and waited for the elevator doors to close.