He laughed.
“Fair enough. I’ll pick you up at four.”
When I hung up, I looked around my quiet kitchen.
For the first time in years, I wished someone else were there.
Not because I needed help with the dishes or because I was afraid of being alone at night.
I wished someone were there because I was beginning to suspect that something was wrong with me, and I did not know how to say it aloud.
Three days later, my body made the decision for me.
I was carrying a basket of laundry upstairs when a sharp pain gripped the right side of my abdomen.
The basket slipped from my hands.
I grabbed the railing and tried to breathe through the pain, but the room seemed to tilt around me.
By the time I reached the landing, I was sweating.
I sat on the top step and waited for the pain to pass.
