And then she walked out into that parking lot she always liked to watch. I sat in the booth with the folder open and her napkin folded into that neat little square next to her plate.

I’m still in that booth, in my head. I haven’t called the lawyer. I keep picking up the phone and putting it down.

I keep thinking about the gap in that kid’s teeth. And how my own wife sat across from me for nine years, smiling at waiters, and built her whole way out so quiet I never heard a sound.

I thought I was the one with the secret.