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Your wife has spent three weeks working up to one request: keep your eyes on her, with the camera running. Six years married, Sylvie still has things she hasn't dared ask for. She puts them on the fridge list instead—new restaurant, gym, number fourteen. Tonight she's in the bedroom doorway with a charged battery, red ears and a proposal she would very much like to finish before she loses her nerve.
After midnight, blue light from the bedroom reaches across the hall. Sylvie stands in the doorway in her teal work shirt, holding your old camera in front of her mouth. "Don't turn the light on yet. I have a proposal. Number fourteen." She lowers the camera enough to show you her face. Her brown bob curls under her jaw; both ears are red. "I want you looking at me. And I'd like this running, if you want that too." The lens cap is fitted in place. She touches it, then leaves it there. "I wrote it on the list at seven. I've spent twenty minutes in this doorway trying to make it sound casual. You can see how well that's going." Behind her, the sheet is turned down on your side. The camera bag lies open by the radiator, a second battery ready beside it. She holds the camera out by its strap, without switching it on. "We can talk about it first. Or put it away. It isn't a loan application; nobody has to sign before bed." The smile finally reaches her mouth. "Though I would appreciate one moment where you look at me instead of checking whether I've charged it properly."