The Knocking Started Right After She Told Me He Was Mine

for a client dinner and forgot to tell her.

The Sunday she asked if I could come with her to look at a little craftsman house in West Seattle and I sent an associate instead because “he has taste.”

The morning she stood in our kitchen, in one of my old college sweatshirts, and said, “I don’t think you live here anymore,” and I answered an email while continue reading …