She even had her own house key.
She knew our daily routines, where we kept our spare linens, and which kitchen cabinet contained Robert’s favorite mugs.
I never found any of that unusual.
After all, this was Susan.
The girl who’d shared her sandwiches with me in elementary school.
The woman who’d stood beside me through every difficult chapter.
The friend I’d trusted for forty-two years.
Then Robert passed away.
And my entire world changed.
Losing him left an emptiness I couldn’t explain.
Our house suddenly seemed enormous and painfully quiet.
His favorite chair remained beside the living room window.
His jacket still hung exactly where he’d left it.
I couldn’t bring myself to change anything.
I stopped attending social gatherings.
I ignored phone calls.
Some mornings, I struggled to find a reason to get out of bed.
People tried to help, but I often pushed them away.
