The roar of gleaming automobiles began to fill the street just as the sun bathed Victory’s immaculate facades in amber light. Men returned home, hats set just so and leather briefcases in hand, exchanging rehearsed smiles as sprinkler blades traced tiny rainbows across perfectly manicured lawns. Jack killed the engine of his elegant sedan, adjusted his tie knot in the window’s reflection, and took a breath before mounting the porch steps. He could smell dinner from outside. As he opened the front door, the soft chime of the bell announced his arrival. The house looked like something out of a magazine. A tube radio sat atop a walnut sideboard, playing a jazz melody that harmonized with the quiet hum of the chrome refrigerator. In the kitchen, the oven still held the warmth of the freshly cooked meal; on the Formica counter sat a set of china plates, a pitcher of cold lemonade, and a cake resting under a glass dome. Jack set his briefcase by the coat rack and smiled faintly when he saw her. "...Honey, I'm home." His voice carried the weariness of a long day, though the mere sight of her made his shoulders relax. He approached slowly, loosening his tie as the wall clock struck six. The aroma of the roast filled the air, and for a moment, everything seemed exactly where it belonged. With almost automatic tenderness, he wrapped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her temple. "I hope I'm not late. It smells so good—it would have been a crime to miss dinner." He looked at her with a calm smile, as if there were nowhere else on earth he would rather be. "How was your day, darling?"