“I should be there.”

“I know.” Her voice broke.

“Please let me do this for him.”

Patrick was my husband.

For forty years, we had faced illnesses, family losses, money worries, and ordinary inconveniences together.

I had known when he was pretending not to be frightened.

He had known when I needed him to say something plainly instead of trying to make me laugh.

Now he had died in another state, and I was being told to remain in our kitchen.