"Matthew, is it going to stop? Is it going to change? Ever?"
"What, honey? Will what stop?"
Any remorse he may have felt for forgetting their anniversary was obviously gone now she could see, forgotten with everything else, as if a switch had been thrown, his mind saturated once again with his work. "Matthew, do you understand that you are obsessed with Wallaby? Really, you are worse than Peter ever was."
"It's not an easy job," he said, wiping a piece of bread in the last smear of sauce on his plate. "Replacing him."
"We never see each other anymore. Even when you two had your falling-out, you saw him more than you see me now. Every morning you're up at five-thirty, then you're at work all day, and I never talk to you - "
"Meetings."
"Then you come home and gobble down your dinner, barely a word between us, or if you do have anything to say it's about that damn company, then you're off into your library until late at night until you come to bed and fall asleep." Her breathing had become panicky.
"Look, I've got to do my job," he said, irritated now.
She leaned forward with her hands flattened on either side of her full plate. She didn't care that her gloved left hand was there for him to contend with. Maybe that was the problem, that she had never really forced him to deal with it.
"Matthew, I'm all alone. You're all I've got. It's not that I mind being here all day, but when you come home, it's worse because then you're here but we're still not together, and on the weekends, like today, you work all day in the library."