He had thought of everything.
He had thought of things I would never have thought of, and I am the careful one in our marriage.
And every clever precaution in that email chain existed for one reason only: so that the look on my face, when he finally handed me the keys to my grandfather’s cabin, would be exactly the look he’d been picturing for six months.
I had almost ruined it in a grocery store, with a carton of milk in my hand, because my first instinct about the best thing my husband had ever done was that it must be the worst.
Lake Sebago.
My grandfather’s cabin.