Bare legs like maple syrup on snow. Despite her shivering, her eyes remain hard. I can’t convince her to abandon her motives.

In the meantime, I go inside. Shut the screen door, then the wood door. Flakes scatter on the tile as I remove damp boots and socks. I leave them by the door. My bare feet, icy and silent in this kitchen, where I bring myself to the stove and decide a cup of tea would warm me up, so I fill the kettle and drop it on the stove top. The gas clicks a bit too long, not igniting, so I search for matches. Try again. Ignition, the fire extends past the kettle and towards my torso, if my hands weren’t so cold it would have burned me. Maybe I’ll make coffee, if the night continues as it has.

I look out the window and turn on the porch light. She’s out there, laying where I left her a moment ago, naked in the snow, her skin dark and shining under the light as flakes continue to fall, resting on her hair and pubic hair, the rest melting into skin. I wish this would stop. I am so sick of the coaxing and fearing and not knowing what goes on in her head. She is still, but her teeth chatter. My water is boiling. I think it has to be coffee.

French press, dump grounds, absorb liquid and fill to brim. Place top on top and now I have to wait again. Our daughter coos from her nursery on the baby monitor. The dog pads across the living room. The television is still on, playing ads for medications and fast food. The windows rattle from the wind.

It’s the middle of January, a month where nothing seems possible and simple domestic realities become the most important part of my life. That, and work. Work has been normal. Quotas, meetings, my desk scattered with post it notes and emails from Janice on my monitor. Ed has taken to talking to me on my lunch breaks, and our talks make me feel better about my home life comparatively. He still lives with his mother and gets very excited about blind boxes, spends most of his income on rare pornography and his AI girlfriend, Samantha. Sometimes I hear him in the stall next to me jacking off, and I know Samantha is on his phone screen, bouncing her pixelated tits, moaning and drooling. She can do whatever he desires. He told me that she can be any shape, size, can be a shemale or in a gangbang or whatever he wants. Not only that, she knows everything about him and provides the love and emotional support a real girlfriend can provide. Their relationship is almost human. And it’s only four hundred dollars a month. I guess Ed and I are getting pretty close.

This afternoon when I left work, it took a long time to drive home because the roads were so icy. Believe me, I can drive in snow. I have chains on my tires, and on days like today, wish I could use them to lash the incompetency out of everyone else on the road, who seem to forget that winter comes once a year and it’s the same every goddamn year. Though maybe it’s my fault for having such high expectations of people. I have no expectations for anyone but myself, my wife and my daughter.

I snap out of it, check the clock and the coffee has been steeping for around 2 minutes and time to plunge. I pour 2 mugs. Look out the window, and she her there. She’s rotated, as if sunbathing. Now her face is down, and the bottoms of her feet are pointed towards me. Her spine sticks up a bit from her back, and one hand rests on her thigh. This skin has reddened from its contact with the snow. Coffee will warm her up. I sit next to her. We sip and let the steam cloud our eyes. We hold hands.