The Mask of the Happy Man

The train was full as he stared down at his phone, texting his wife he'd be home late. The bubbles appear, indicating she's replying and he stares blindly at the screen. "That's alright, I'll change the time of dinner to 18:15." And with that he releases a sigh. He gets off at his stop and walks down the road, darkening with the overcast of winter.

It'll probably take him twenty minutes to walk home, so he plugs in his headphones and listens to a podcast where two men argue about the latest conspiracy theory that one day, maybe, humans will be obsolete. He decides to text his wife again asking what they will be eating that night and whether there is enough for him to take to work tomorrow. Bubbles. Reply. "There are three portions. One for dinner, one for tomorrow's lunch and a spare, just in case you're extra hungry!" He smiles. She always knew what to do.

He begins typing again: "is it able to be..."

Before he can finish another message appears: "put it in a wrap, or a sandwich — chilli is good on the go as well as being a dinner staple!"

When he finally arrives home, he looks around his house like a patient wakes up on an operating table - rubbing his eyes to the white lights above his head. He puts his bag by the door and changes his clothes. The rooms are all silent except for the kitchen, where she is. He had always hoped for a wife, and was never sure he'd get one.

"Hey honey!" He greets her. They talk about his day. He sits at the table with a grin. "And you know what's great. I think it's funny how we always finish each other's..."

She replies "sentences?"