She looked at the long, thin meandering crack trailing down the foundation wall like a coursing river. She felt compelled to trail her finger over the length of it, feeling the raspy turquoise concrete, cool under her fingertip.

“I’ll have to go get some sealant,” her husband had told her.

“But that will ruin the paint,” she replied, with an emotion that surprised her. “I don’t have any more.”

“You have to fix it before it gets out of hand.”

“But it’s such a small crack!”

He paused.