The Thermostat
- breakingchaosbuildingclarity
- 1 day ago
- 1 min read
It was set to 68. It had been set to 68 for years.
She stood in front of it anyway, finger on the arrow, and pushed it down to 66. Then, a minute later, back up to 69. Then down again.
Her husband didn’t say anything. He’d learned, somewhere in year eleven or twelve, that the thermostat wasn’t really about the temperature on the nights she stood in front of it like that.
He brought her a blanket instead. Set it on the arm of the couch without a word, and went back to the dishes.
She looked at the blanket for a second. Then at the thermostat, still glowing 68, exactly where it had started.
She sat down. Pulled the blanket over her knees.
The house was the same temperature it had been for years.
Comments