Room 12.
I remembered our first tiny apartment.
The year his construction business nearly failed.
The nights we survived on inexpensive spaghetti.
The day Sophie was born.
Mark holding our newborn daughter and crying harder than anyone else in the delivery room.
I remembered the accident that damaged his finger.
The night he placed his repaired wedding ring in my palm.
And his quiet apology.
“I’m sorry, Lee. It just hurts too much.”
I had told him it didn’t matter.
That I knew we were married.
That a piece of jewelry couldn’t change what we meant to each other.
Now I lay beside him wondering whether I’d been foolish.
Twenty-six years.
And perhaps he’d chosen someone else.
At four in the morning, I stood at our bedroom window.
The street was empty.
The houses were dark.
I made myself a promise.
I would find out the truth. Even if it destroyed me.
