She desperately wished that he would grow up.
He had remained rooted to his childhood after crossing half a century of life. She saw him calling up the genetic family and childhood pals to chat about inane stuff, after she had informed him of her internal bleeding. She did not fear a fatal illness or death, but she longed to see some trace of emotion for her in this person. Did she ever exist for him? Did he ever live in the here and now of life? All advice about seeking counselling had fallen on deaf ears.
She started with the Sunday cleaning chores, while reflecting on her life, and stopped at this clock. She wanted to throw it away, but anything Australian was dearer than life to her husband.
She would perhaps keep it for the remaining years of life, which thankfully were not many.