Sehnsucht

The problem with Martin's life was that there was nothing wrong with it.

He had done the arithmetic several times, usually at around four in the morning, and it kept coming out the same. The house was paid for. The marriage was, by any reasonable measure, a success — twenty-two years, two adults who still liked each other's company, a shared language of references nobody else would understand. The work was interesting most weeks and tolerable the rest. His daughter had rung on Sunday for no reason.