And perhaps he’d taken off the new ring before returning home, forgetting that the August sun had left its outline on his finger.
I returned the receipt and key card exactly where I’d found them.
Then I carried the bag back to the closet.
I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the edge of the bathtub.
I pressed a towel against my mouth so Mark wouldn’t hear me crying.
That night, I barely slept.
Instead, I remembered our life together.
I first met Mark when I was twenty-three.
I worked at my uncle’s hardware store.
One afternoon, a young construction worker came in covered in drywall dust.
He needed a particular hinge but couldn’t remember what it was called.
So he drew a picture on the back of a receipt.
It was a terrible drawing.
I laughed.
He pretended to look offended.
