They Had Me Thrown Out of My Own Lake House

looked at the labels. Almond braid. Blueberry muffins. Mini quiches going cold.

“No,” I said. “Leave them.”

She set the boxes on the patio table.

“I’m sorry I didn’t speak up that night.”

I believed she meant it. Which wasn’t the same as forgiving it.

“Okay,” I said.

She nodded once, took the van, and left.

I spent the next hour alone cleaning up traces of continue reading …