The Person Who Walked Into That Diner Knew My Husband’s Secret

to breathe.

Then I said, “Never ask me that again.”

She cried hard then. So did I.

I slept in the guest room. Around three in the morning I got up, walked into my bedroom, took one of Richard’s old undershirts from the bottom drawer, and cut the tattooed chest out of every photo album picture where his shirt was off.

Petty.

Crazy.

Didn’t help.

I still did continue reading …