From Savior To Scapegoat

e. She pointed a trembling finger at the line, watching me as I si

quickly signed her own name. It was as if she needed me to be heartbroken t

the untouched steak and potatoes into the trash. The smell t

t that was no longer ours. The next day, I started packing her things into bo

ng bag tucked away in the back, behind her winter coats. It was from

a shoebox.

were beautiful, the kind of shoes a man in her new world would wear. For a stup

scuffed and cracked, the soles worn thin. I h

new shoes on. It was too big. At least a full size t

died instantly, replaced

expected her until evening. She saw me sitting on th

ce wen

?" she asked, her v

my tone neutral. "I was

a colleague. It was his birthday. But I got the size wrong. He couldn' t we

it was almost insulting. She couldn

door. I thought about the countless times I' d patched them up with glue, trying to

he knew my shoe size

ew. Those shoes were never meant for me. Th