He Wanted to Erase Our Marriage at Dinner

of the bed, bent forward, pressed my palms against my knees, and counted the slats in the closet door until the room stopped tilting.

Seven years.

And these people thought I was the lie.

I took the small hard-shell carry-on from the top shelf. Black. Monogram tag from a conference in Chicago. Into it went three dresses, jeans, sweaters, underwear, chargers,continue reading …