For me to choose myself.
I sat down on the edge of the sofa because my legs could no longer hold me.
The room around me felt altered, as if the objects had turned into witnesses. The framed photo from our second anniversary sat on the bookshelf. Lauren in a green dress, me with one arm around her waist, both of us smiling at a future we thought belonged to us. A glass vase on the mantel held dried flowers from the hospital room, flowers I had forgotten to throw away. Beside the window stood the small side table where Lauren used to drink tea in the mornings while reading novels.
Every corner of the house contained a version of her I had left behind.
“What does she want?” I asked.
Daniel’s expression hardened again. “That’s in the letter too.”
I turned the page.
