In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain
“Mom, Dad called me at eight this morning,” Sophie said, her words running together the way they always did when she was anxious.
“He told me he was moving into an apartment in town and that I shouldn’t worry about my spring tuition.”
“Did he give you an address or a unit number?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“He spoke in this strange, flat voice, like he was making a corporate announcement.
He sounded like he was reading off an index card, Mom.”
“Did he sound angry?” I asked.
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