dinner.
I believe she understood enough to remain seated at a table where another woman’s chair had been removed.
That was its own testimony.
Chloe recovered slowly.
Some mornings, raising one arm brought her to tears.
Some nights, a car door closing outside convinced her body Marcus had returned.
We designed routines around the fear without calling them fear.
Tea before sleep.
The porch light left on.
A spare key to my home.
A place at my Thanksgiving table no one would ever remove.
The following Thanksgiving, Chloe brought sweet
