I Opened My Late Wife’s Forbidden Drawer—and Found a Key She Hid

when he finally cries, when he finally lets me in—God, I’d do it all over again.”

I slam the journal shut.

One page.

My hands shake.

I sit on the bed with that closed book beside me and I whisper, “Okay. Okay. I hear you.”

Because that’s what Sarah asked.

Not to consume her storm.

To respect it.

To stay kind.

Downstairs, the house is quiet.

Upstairs, my children continue reading …