"Maybe I should get my own place, so I can leave the toaster out!" Brock threatened angrily.

"Maybe you should," Reba retorted, much more calmly than either of them had anticipated.

Brock stared at his wife, waiting for her to snatch back her words and apologize. When she didn't, he picked up his coat from the back of his chair and took a few steps towards the door. "Okay, then. I'll start looking at places today," he told her, slowly opening the back door.

"Brock-"

He turned, suppressing a grin of triumph. He knew she wouldn't let him leave. She loved him too much, even if she didn't necessarily need him the way he wished she did. She would apologize now, any second, and he would hug her and leave for work. All would be fine in the Hart household, though it wouldn't take much to launch the couple back into a fight. But, for the day, all would be fine.

"-If you walk out that door, you're not coming back," Reba informed him, stony-faced.

"Fine," Brock nodded in disbelief, walking through the door. She was letting him leave. He closed the door behind him, pausing momentarily to see if she would open the door and come after him. She'll cool off, he told himself when she didn't rush after him.

"What are you doing? Go after him!" Cheyenne screeched at her mother, running into the kitchen. Having heard the whole fight, Cheyenne was concerned that her father was never coming back.

"He'll be back," Reba said, sounding much more confident than she felt.

"But you said that if he left, he couldn't come back," Cheyenne reasoned.

"No, I was just… Saying that to scare him," Reba admitted to her daughter. "He'll be back." She gingerly fingered the dishrag she was holding. "He'll be back," she repeated. She couldn't be certain if she was trying to convince Cheyenne or herself.

Cheyenne shook her head as if saying that she disapproved of her mother allowing her father to leave the house angry. She turned to leave.

"Make sure your brother and sister are about ready," Reba instructed her eldest daughter while still fingering the dishrag. She was unable to tear her focus from it.

Cheyenne made a noise of affirmation as she walked out of the kitchen.

Reba stood at the sink, staring at the dishrag, lost in thought.

"What's for breakfast, mom?" Jake asked, sitting at the table as his sisters entered behind him.

Cheyenne nudged Kyra and motioned towards their unblinking, unmoving mother as if to See?

Kyra nodded and moved past her sister. "Cereal," she answered for her mother.

Cheyenne nodded as well, moving to help her sister with the bowls. "What kind do you want, Jake?"

"Cheerios!"

Cheyenne nodded, pouring the cereal and milk into a bowl and carrying it to her brother.

The girls prepared their own cereal and ate silently, taking turns shooting pointed, worried glances at their mother.

"Mom?" Jake said, breaking the silence and jolting his mother out of her detaches state of mind, "what did you pack for lunch?"

"Oh! Jake!" Reba sighed, dropping the dishcloth and looking at her watch. "Cheyenne? Reach in my purse and get yourselves money for lunch, please? The buss will be here and minute. Hurry!"

Cheyenne nodded and did as her mother instructed. She then herded her siblings out of the kitchen, pausing only to cast one last worried over her shoulder at her mother.

Reba hurriedly collected the dishes from that morning's breakfast, placing them in the sink as she turned on the hot water and squeezed dish detergent over them. She stared at Brock's place at the table as she picked up the dishrag she'd dropped and began absentmindedly washing the dishes.

Her mind quickly went back to what she'd been focused on since Brock had walked out the back door: Whether or not he'd come back.

He's not stupid enough to throw away a twenty year marriage, she thought. It was just a stupid, little fight.

"He'll be back," she told the empty house. "He will."

Reba finished the dishes and set about doing her other daily chores around the house.

"He'll be back," she told herself as she made her son's bed.

"Same time as always." She made Kyra's bed.

"Right after work." She made Cheyenne's.

"Five thirty, just like always," she said, finishing making her own bed and beginning to separate her daughters' laundry.

Darks, colors, whites, delicates. "Back in time for dinner."

Reba separated her son's wash before separating her own and Brock's.

She threw the whites into the washer before walking through the kitchen. She stopped, eyeing the toaster.

She picked it up, preparing to put it away. "No," she decided. "He'll put it away if… When. When he gets home."

She walked back into the family room and sat down, staring off into space as her mind wandered.

What if he doesn't? What if he decides that he can get along without you or the kids?

What do you do if he just changes everything in your life? He's the breadwinner. You'd have to go back to work. He has the secure job, he could take the kids. He could take the house.

He could take everything you care about, without even trying.

His love, Cheyenne, Kyra, Jake, the house.

Without trying.

Life without your family…. Is that even worth living? You would have nothing to live for. What kind of mother and wife gets left? Not a good one.

"No," Reba argued as she stood. She drew her bathrobe tighter.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised. "I'm still wearing my bathrobe!" She shook her head, forcing herself to laugh.

She put the whites in the dryer and rushed up the stairs to take a shower, catching sight of the time as she passed the living room clock.

Half past three.

She jumped into the shower and began washing her hair.

"Two hours," she told herself, rinsing the shampoo from her hair.

"He'll be back." She roughly towel-dried her hair as she walked to the washer and threw in the darks.

She checked her watch. Quarter to five. If I start dinner now, she reasoned, it should be done right when he gets home.

She remembered that, in her absent-minded state that morning, she had forgotten to take the pork chops out to thaw. "Crap," she sighed. "Well, we could always go out to dinner. Or order in. Brock does love when we order Chinese food."

"Who are you talking to, Mom?" Cheyenne asked, concerned, as she walked into the kitchen, looking around.

"Oh," Reba laughed at herself as she took out the Chinese order-menu. "I was just thinking aloud. What do you think about ordering Chinese tonight?"

"I would love to, but Van and I were actually thinking of going to a movie and I figured we could just pick up something on the way. Do you mind?"

"Oh," Reba sighed. "Of course not, dear. Don't be back too late."

Cheyenne nodded happily. "Alright! Oh, actually, I was thinking he could just drop me off at Brittany's. We had to work on a drill. I am co-captain, after all." She waited for her mother to nod. When she finally did, Cheyenne squealed happily, "I'm just gonna run and get changed. he should be here any minute. Thanks, mom!" She bounded out of the kitchen happily.

"Okay, dinner for four, then."

"Make that three," Kyra said, walking into the room. "I have to go over Jenny's house. We have a project to do."

"It can't wait just a day?" Reba asked, exasperated. She never liked not having her whole family together for meals.

"Mom, it's due Monday."

"Fine," Reba sighed. "Go to Jenny's."

"Thanks, mom! Her mom can pick me up and I figured I'd just sleep over since it's Friday."

"Fine," Reba repeated to her daughter's retreating back.

"Mom?" Jake said as he entered through the back door.

"Yes, Jake," Reba said evenly, knowing what was coming. "You can go to Kyle's house for the evening."

"Really? Cool!" Jake exclaimed, running back out of the house. He stopped. "And, mom? Can I-"

"-Sleepover. Fine."

At this, Jake exited the house, yelling, "She said yes!"

"It's better this way," Reba told herself as she angrily folded the menu back up. "Brock and I needed to talk. We'll just have a quiet evening with the two of us. We can go out for Chinese. It's better this way."

Reba stuffed the folded menu back in it's place in the drawer by the phone and walked up the stairs. Brock has always liked me in green. I'll wear the green sweater he gave me for our last anniversary. And we'll go to his favorite restaurant. And we'll talk.

Reba eyed the clock as she pulled the sweater on. Twenty after five. Crap. She yanked off her old jeans and hurriedly pulled a simple black skirt over her hips.

5:25.

She raced down the stairs and began straightening the living room.

He'll be here. Five minutes. He'll walk in, I'll kiss him and ask him how his day was, then I'll tell him that, as soon as he gets changed, we're going out. We make it a romantic evening. We almost never have time for just the two of us.

5:35.

Traffic, Reba told herself as she played with the ends of her sleeves and stared at the door, waiting for it to open.

Waiting for her husband to walk through the door, like always.

Quarter of five.

He's just a little late. It's not the end of the world. He is going to stroll through that door in the next five minutes.

"Mom, you look nice! Did you and dad make up? You two going out? That's awesome!" Cheyenne commented in passing as she waved goodnight to her mother. "I'll be back around noon tomorrow."

"Bye, dear," Reba closed the gap as she nodded at her daughter. She looked hopefully over Cheyenne's shoulder as she shut the door behind her oldest child, but Brock's car still wasn't in the driveway.

Reba opened the door as her younger daughter bounded down the stairs, "Bye, Kyra."

"Bye, mom!"

Reba, again, looked hopefully past her child but only saw an empty driveway.

Reba sighed and closed the door before crossing to the couch. She hugged a pillow to her chest as she stared at the door, periodically checking her watch.

Six o'clock.

What if something is wrong? I wouldn't ever be able to forgive myself if something happened and this morning was the conversation we had! Reba told herself, picking up the phone and dialing his office.

"Thank you for choosing the dental practices of Doctor Brock Ha-rt," Reba heard an annoyingly chipper voice say.

"Hi. I'd like to speak with my husband," Reba impatiently told the voice.

"We're not here to take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number, we'll get back to you so you can schedule an appointment. Thanks for calling and have a tee-rific day!"

Reba sighed as she replaced the phone in its cradle.

She picked it up again and dialed his cell.

"Hey, You've reached Brock Hart. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can," she heard his voice say after she'd let the line ring four or five times.

"Hello, Brock. This is your wife calling. It's… It's Reba," she said into the receiver, her voice breaking as she realized how cold she sounded. She quickly composed herself. "It's a little after six and you aren't home yet. So, I hope you're on your way. I was just a tad concerned, so I thought I'd check to see if you were okay. Call me back if you get this before you get home. But you should be home soon, so it shouldn't be an issue. Call me a worry-wart, but I wanted to make sure you were okay."

She replaced the phone in its cradle, whispering, "I love you, Brock."

She stared at the phone, unsure of who to call next top make sure her husband was safe.

I'm gonna make sure he's okay, then I'm gonna kill him for scaring me so dang much, Reba told herself.

He's not coming, a voice in the back of her mind nagged.

She hugged the pillow closer to her as she tucked her knees under her, staring at the door, "He is. He'll be home."

"Mom?" Cheyenne asked, opening the door the following afternoon. "Are you wearing what you had on last night? What happened?"

Reba blinked furiously, trying to wake herself up. She stretched to the side to peer out the door.

Brock's car was still missing.

"I… Your father…" she stumbled.

"Did he not come home?" her daughter asked, her tone more serious. "Were you waiting all night?"

"No! 'Course not! I just… I was too exhausted when we got home last night. So, I just stayed on the couch. We got home awfully late. And he had taken me dancing. I was just too tired. I just insisted he let me stay on the couch."

Cheyenne turned and looked outside. "Dad's car isn't there."

Reba stood up and stretched before crossing to stand beside her daughter. "You didn't let me finish. This morning, he had to run to work."

Cheyenne looked at her mother, doubt clearly etched in her face. "Well, okay. If you say so," she said, still not convinced.

Reba nodded, a fake smile plastered to her face. "If you get ready for the day, I'll make lunch. Your siblings should be home soon. Run upstairs and get dressed, okay?"

Cheyenne nodded reluctantly and ran up the stairs.

He didn't come home, Reba thought. The full weight of the realization hitting her. Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared out the door at the empty driveway.

She moved to wipe them away, to hide her pain, but one stubborn tear managed to slide down her cheek before she could do so.