I left Christopher’s mail where it was.
I left his shoes by the door.
I left the white urn above the fireplace because, for the moment, it was the only place he would be forced to see what he had refused to face.
Then I placed the silver key in the inside pocket of my coat.
Before I walked out, I read the first line of the divorce petition one last time.
My name looked unfamiliar without his beside it.
Outside, the morning was bright and ordinary.
A family SUV rolled past the end of the driveway.
Someone across the street dragged a trash bin toward the curb.
The world had not changed, even though mine had ended.
I locked the front door and slid my house key through the mail slot.
Then I left without telling Christopher where I was going.
He still did not know his mother was dead.
