She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

years, Graham had been teaching me that dignity meant swallowing whatever he served.

At dinner parties, he corrected my stories.

At charity luncheons, he finished my sentences.

When I forgot a donor’s wife’s name, he laughed and told the table I had always been “dreamy.”

When I bought notebooks, he called them “little diaries.”

When I stayed up late, he continue reading …