I picked up my wedding ring.
I slid the ring back onto my finger.
Then I looked at her photograph.
“I’m still mad at you,” I said.
I sat in the chair beside hers and drank my coffee.
Irene and I had argued, laughed, raised children, buried friends, and built a life no missing document could erase.
“I’m still mad at you.”
Her lie belonged to that life, too.
I hated that.
But it did.
For the first time since Mr. Geller knocked on my door, I didn’t need Irene to answer me.
She had made her choice.
Now I had made mine.
She had made her choice.
