My Son Called at Midnight About the Blanket His Wife Threw Away

if he should tell Emily the amount.

“No,” I said.

“She’ll find out eventually.”

“Eventually is different from tonight.”

He knew I was right.

At 1:43 a.m. he stood by the door holding the blanket like it might break.

“Should I take it?” he asked.

I looked at him, really looked.

My son. Wet hair now drying crooked. Wedding ring still on. Shirt wrinkled. Thirty-four continue reading …