Wake up, make the bed, cook breakfast, clean the house, cry, cook dinner, greet George with a bright smile, have dinner, go to bed. This is my life. These mundane tasks chip away at my hope for the future. This is it. I am going to die on these perfectly waxed floors. This is the “perfect nuclear family.” I am living the life every woman told me I wanted. So, why am I leaning on the sink counter contemplating my existence? When I got engaged, everyone congratulated me. Why? Why would they wish for this dehumanization? Hopelessness crushes my chest, attempting to squeeze out my remaining breaths. The first time I had this reaction, I thought I was dying. But I am growing accustomed to it. Today, a spot of grime sent me spiraling until I hit the floor of my bottomless well of a soul. All I can do is wait for the spiraling to slow. Just wait and this feeling will be pushed down. My back slides down against the wall, dragging my skirt with it until I hit the cold tile floor. GET UP ELIZABETH. Despite every muscle in my body telling me to lie down, I pull myself up to prepare dinner. Six o'clock. George should be arriving soon Bright smile “I'm home. . .” my husband's bored voice fills the room, “. . . have you made me my drink yet?” “Of course. How was work, darling?” “Oh, boring work stuff. I'm in no mood to talk.” He picks up his daily paper and sits down at the head of the table. The bright smile plastered onto my face falters. Why do I even try anymore? What happened to me? I was once idealistic. Ambitious. “Women only go to college to get their MRS degree,” my mother said. Oh, and a husband I found. George was practical, stable, average. Nothing little girls wish for. An accountant with a retirement plan. Just what every girl dreams of. I quit school after I got married. Sometimes I wonder about the girls who stayed. Who chose themselves. Who didn't buy into the nuclear family fever dream. I imagine them stepping out of elevators and rushing down the hallway to their desks. They are stressed but fulfilled. The most fulfillment I get is clean dishes. I glance over at my husband's paper, announcing “Supreme Court Strikes Down School Segregation.” My law professor told me I was the most promising student he'd ever had. I've been chasing that high ever since. I only had one year left on my law degree. I could go back! I look over at my husband. He sits across from me, yet I am alone at this perfectly set dinner table. His face is shrouded in the shadow of the newspaper, a wall between us physically and emotionally. “How is the food?” I ask, trying to nonchalantly propose my return to the university. “Fine.” Of course it is. “I was thinking, you are always at work and I get kind of lonely here,” I hesitantly state. “So, you want to have a hobby? That's fine with me.” “Not exactly. What if I return to school and finish my law degree?” His silence at the end of the table sends trickles up my spine. “I only have one year left.” His lack of a response flushes my face. He has not put down his paper. “I'm not sure that's a great idea,” he states matter-of-factly. “Why not?” An edge creeps into my voice. “You are just so busy here taking care of the house and cooking.” His completely flat tone raises my body temperature. “I could find …” “No, you couldn't,” he interrupts. “Well, I was just saying that…“ “It just isn't a great idea. Sorry.” Adrenaline pulses through my body. “I need someone to be here waiting for me.” Boom. There goes my temper. “JUST PUT DOWN THE DAMN PAPER!” That gets his attention. He lowers the newspaper and strides over to my side of the table. “That's no way to speak to your husband.” He raises his hand and strikes me on my cheek, leaving a stinging sensation. A tear trickles down my face. George returns to his seat and picks up his newspaper. “A wife needs to support her husband. And for that I need you to be here.” Tears silently roll down my face. No. I am not doing this. I rise and stare this man in the eyes. I briskly march to my purse. “Where are you going?” George shoots up, his chair crashes against my immaculate floor. His voice quivers with uncertainty. “Anywhere but here.” I grab my purse and make my way to the door. “Wait, you can't just leave!” I ignore his frightened calls. I open the door feeling the rush of the cool night air on my skin. “I AM YOUR HUSBAND!” I shut the doors behind me, turning George's shouts to muffled words. I step inside the car and turn the engine. The soft roaring sound fuels my passion. I drive away from my perfect white picket fence house. In spite of the darkness shrouding my view, I sense a new dawn of a life absent of the suffocating “nuclear family.” Finally feeling that warm rippling feeling of potential surging through my veins, I choose myself.