I looked at the photograph still open on my phone.
“I haven’t called him once since he left.”
“Good.”
“And I haven’t begged him to return.”
“Even better.”
Her voice softened, almost triumphantly.
“Then perhaps we understand each other.”
“No, Susan. We don’t.”
I ended the call.
For the next two days, I barely ate.
Our daughter, Emily, noticed something was wrong when she called on Thursday evening.
“Mom, have you been crying?”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Don’t lie to me. You always get that little catch in your voice when you’re trying not to cry.”
I sat down on the sofa.
Then I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she was silent for several seconds.
“Mom, I’m coming over.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Yes, I do.”
She arrived forty minutes later, carrying groceries and wearing the determined expression she had inherited from me.
When she saw the wedding photograph on the mantelpiece, she stopped.
