The secret felt heavier after that Christmas. Every time Joyce called to talk about their plans I would hold the phone a little tighter. I would ask about the garden or the grandkids and never once ask about anything else.

Now with the two papers in my purse I keep going over that night in my head. The way the light from the lamp made the table look warm and safe. The sound of Joyce humming along with the radio. Walter’s steady hands on the knife.

I have decided what I am going to do tomorrow. I will read the kind one. The one that talks about the man Joyce believes she married for forty-four years.

That woman in the third row will hear every word and she will know I chose to stay quiet one last time. Joyce will hold my hand after and thank me for making it easier. And I will go home knowing the other paper is still folded in my purse where it belongs.