At 30,000 Feet, I Watched My Wife Crawl Across the Floor With Both Legs in Casts While My Mother Hid Her Crutches—Then I Noticed What Was Recording Behind Them
“Now can I just be someone whose ankle hurts?”
Fair.
No identity assignment.
No inspiration demand.
Just Clara.
The woman who still makes excellent pecan pie when she feels like it.
The woman who now says no more quickly.
My wife.
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