The apartment was plain: a small kitchen, a couch, a bedroom, and a table beside a window.
Someone had stocked the refrigerator with bottled water, eggs, fruit, and the kind of ginger tea I had been drinking for morning sickness.
Those ordinary things nearly broke me more than the funeral had.
David used to stock the refrigerator before every one of my returns, even if he had only been home a few hours himself.
He never gave speeches about taking care of me.
He checked the tires, filled the gas tank, washed my coffee mug, and made sure there was food I could keep down.
I sat on the kitchen floor with his old T-shirt stretched over my stomach and cried until I could breathe without fighting it.
No one told me I was ruining Thanksgiving.
My phone collected messages while I slept.
Harper accused me of humiliating her in front of Julian.
