After My Husband’s Funeral I Stayed Silent On The …

from the house. Our house, my house, the house Michael built with his own two hands, where Karen was now calling a locksmith, like she owned the place. The parking lot was half empty. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the neon sign buzzed and flickered in the gray September evening.

I sat in the car for a long time. Michael’s old Honda Accord, the continue reading …