He sat beside me.
“You know, I never thought things would end this way.”
His voice sounded almost convincing.
“Eight years. That’s a long time, isn’t it?”
He picked up my hand.
“Remember our wedding? You said you wanted to grow old together.”
His thumb moved gently over my wedding ring.
I remembered that day.
I remembered the promises.
I remembered believing every word.
“Well,” he continued, “I suppose some promises are impossible to keep.”
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He released my hand.
Then he stood.
“Get some rest.”
He left the room.
I waited until his footsteps disappeared before allowing myself to breathe more deeply.
***
At 11:40 that night, someone knocked softly on my bedroom door.
It wasn’t David.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
I recognized the voice.
Mara Collins, the night nurse.
She had worked in our home for almost three months.
She was in her early forties, with dark hair usually tied in a practical bun and a quiet manner that made her easy to overlook.
