The Echo of a Life Lost

I was sitting in the dark on our porch, the ci

out here?" she asked, her

rapped box. "Happy anniversary, honey. Sorry I'm so

wer. I just

silver cufflinks, generic and impersonal. They looked like

d. My voice was flat,

t. The faint, hoppy scent of a specific craft IPA. The one Caleb always drank, the

er away gently but fi

rritation crossed her face. "Fine. But

ad cigarette. I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn't do this anymore. The twelve years we'