I turned the notebook around and showed him the date on the first page.
"Those were reminders," he said. "I was trying to remember details that mattered to you."
I turned the notebook around and showed him the date on the first page.
Three weeks before he had ever called me.
Before our first coffee.
Before he knew whether I would even speak to him.
"No," I said. "You studied your way into my life. I can't believe my kids saw it before me."
Thirty days. That was all they had asked for.
Peter’s voice was tight with anger.
"We didn’t want the house, Mom. We wanted thirty days."
That was the line that broke me.
Not the notebook.
Not even Daniel’s letters.
"You wrote instructions on how to talk about my husband."
Thirty days.
That was all they had asked for, and I had let a stranger convince me to throw caution to the wind.
