When My Husband Pocket-Dialed Me

I wrote:

Sure. Coffee sounds good.

We met Sunday morning at a trendy little cafe in Dilworth, the kind with white brick walls, hanging plants, and oat milk in every drink. Lydia arrived ten minutes late wearing a loose cream sundress and oversized sunglasses.

She hugged me too tightly.

I smelled Mark’s cologne on her hair.

“God, I missed you,” she said.continue reading …