When My Husband Pocket-Dialed Me

coffee, flowers, sometimes groceries. He sat with me in the garden and talked about my mother when I could bear it.

One Sunday in late spring, he arrived with yellow tulips.

I opened the door and stared at them.

His face fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I forgot Mark used to—”

“It’s okay,” I said.

But it was not.

Not yet.

We sat outside anyway. The continue reading …