At Eleven, She Moved In. At Six, I Changed The Locks.

saw the driveway and stopped.

Richard’s boxes were under the tarp.

His golf clubs leaned against the garage wall.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My answer,” I said.

Richard came down last.

No robe now. Belt. Loafers. Overnight bag in one hand.

That hurt.

I won’t dress it up. It hurt.

Even expecting it, even seeing all the roads that led there, it still hit low continue reading …