waiting for my wife's return | Michael Estabrook I sit down suddenly on the floor in our upstairs hallway. The floor is cold as is the closet door I lean against. I hold my forehead in the palm of my hand. It isn't a heart attack or even my normal acute back pain. I'm not having a sudden panic attack over being so deep in debt or because I'm not sure exactly where my children are right now. I am simply suddenly sullen being in my house alone, in the early evening waiting for my wife's return from her business interview with a young handsome father from Sweden, a wealthy widower in search of childcare. Oh well, nothing to worry about, she'll be back in good time, home to me after her business is done.