'The Suit' by Nora Nadjarian

We play Happy Families, the three of us: Mummy, Daddy, Baby.

I think I look good in the dark grey suit and the multi-coloured tie. They belong to him but I do what I like with his clothes when he’s at work. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror while going down the stairs, one step at a time. I want to be the strong one here, to experience power. I’m learning, day by day, even though under this suit I’m still a woman. Just a housewife loading the dishwasher, drying the cutlery, keeping an eye on the oven.

“Mummy?” says the voice of my baby who’s hitting the kitchen table with her plastic bowl. Then she says: “Daddy?” She’s too young to understand, but I want to tell her anyway. “This is your mummy who’s getting ready for a job interview.”

In the evening I take the suit off, leave it lying there, put my dress on again. He asks why his best suit and tie are on the floor.

“Slipped off the hanger,” I say.

“Couldn’t you have picked them up?”

“I could have,” I reply, “but didn’t.”