The Woman He Discarded

id something strange.

Spices I recognized from my mother' s kitchen

," he announced, a rare, alm

s, he' d never so much as made toast. His

t determined. He was making gumbo. My gumbo. The dish I'

of me felt a flicker of hope. Maybe

he ladled a bowl for me, the aroma filling the

ed almo

e grow, when he pulled out his phone. He took a pict

k?" he asked, no

ks good

hant smile. He held up his phone so I

it, his message: Practiced on the charity cas

tly, replaced by a f

t. A practice run for th

h turned to ash. I p

gry," I said,

his face illuminated by the glow of his phone, a smil