He Married Me Dying, Then His Lawyer Opened the Box

Carol’s photograph from the mantel, dusted it, and put it back exactly where it had been.

At seven-twenty-four I sat on the porch swing.

The neighborhood had the same evening sounds I remembered. Screen doors. A dog two houses down who barked at nothing useful. Somebody’s radio muffled by walls. The sun slid lower, and the front steps turned gold exactly continue reading …