In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain
He did not pull his hand away, and he did not look down at the sofa cushions between us.
The pendulum clock on the living room wall ticked through the silence, its slow rhythm marking the hours until dawn.
By seven thirty the next morning, bright October sunlight poured through the high kitchen windows, warming the pale linoleum near the back door.
Greg sat in his usual spot at the head of the kitchen table, wearing his favorite gray wool cardigan over a clean blue button-down shirt.
Biscuit lay on the cool floor tiles beside Greg’s slippers, resting his chin on his paws and watching the toaster with patient brown eyes.
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