It’s been three weeks now. I’m staying in a tiny rental apartment with secondhand dishes and a mattress that squeaks whenever I roll over. I’ve already filed for divorce. Some mornings I still wake up reaching for a life that no longer exists, before remembering exactly why I walked away.
“You stood beside me while I buried her and let me think she was the problem.”
And I remember my sister too.
The way she used to ask, “Have you eaten?” as if it were the only way she knew how to say I love you..…continue reading…
