He picked up his car keys from the counter and walked out the back door into the cold night air.

I sat in the dark kitchen for two minutes, listening to his engine start in the driveway and fade away down the street.

I got up, went down the back porch steps, and walked over to where my truck was parked on the gravel drive.

I stopped near the front bumper and looked down at the dark patch of asphalt behind the tire where I’d dumped Garrett’s coffee that morning.

A puddle of liquid was still sitting on the cold pavement, with an oily film on top of the asphalt.