His shoes were still near the entrance.
His favorite coffee mug was in the kitchen.
His jacket hung beside mine.
Everything looked exactly as it had before the wedding.
I kept expecting him to walk through the door.
But he never did.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him collapsing at our reception.
Eventually, the memories became unbearable.
Before dawn the following morning, I packed a backpack and left.
I bought a bus ticket to a town I’d never visited.
I didn’t have a destination in mind.
I simply wanted to be somewhere that didn’t remind me of losing my husband.
As the bus pulled away, I rested my head against the window and watched the familiar streets disappear.
For the first time in days, I felt able to breathe.
Then the bus stopped.
Several passengers climbed aboard.
A man wearing a dark cap took the empty seat beside me.
