For a while, the dishes were never just dishes. They were a scorecard, a reminder, and occasionally a reason to speak in a tone neither of us recognised.
We eventually admitted that both of us were tired and both of us believed we were doing more than the other person noticed. That conversation was less satisfying than being right and much more useful.
Now we leave the kitchen imperfect when the day has been long. One of us usually washes up in the morning. The plates have not filed a complaint.
Love is not proved by a spotless sink. Sometimes it is proved by making room for the other person to be tired too.