He Married Me Dying, Then His Lawyer Opened the Box

Each one had a year written on the front in Thomas’s handwriting.

1968.

1969.

1970.

My stomach turned over.

There was one for every year.

Every single year since I had left.

The Letters He Never Sent

I don’t know how long I sat there before I opened the first one.

The paper had gone yellow at the edges. The fold line was soft from age. I could see where his continue reading …