Once more, she hands you the wrong order; this time, the iced vanilla latte is a small and your bagel hasn’t been toasted. You flag her down and ask her to correct it. She apologizes, and two minutes later, you leave Carol’s Coffee Shop, shaking the ice around your drink, listening to the cubes bob up and down. But the latte tastes watery, and your bagel is a smidge burnt.

He led me down the hallway, passing by half-open doors leading to his baby girl’s room, empty and darkened from the lack of her presence. If I had not been there, emptiness would have consumed the entire house. On Joey’s bed, unmade on one side only, lay a pile of gorgeous lingerie. Lace, silk, harnessed, dresses, bras, specialty underwear. More than I owned, certainly. Most of it was black. In a chair in the corner were her other clothes, set up more neatly, all still attached to their hangers. My eyes were drawn primarily in the direction of the normal, business-casual attire fit for a mom and a professional. He saw me staring at them, and said, “Ah, those ones are getting donated tomorrow. She wouldn’t have wanted me to keep stuff that we can’t use.

Benjamin was miserable. He lay on the couch trying to will himself to stand back up and go to bed and spend one last night with his girlfriend who would be gone for months. The past months with her had been the happiest of his life, and now that was slipping away. He tried to stand back up, but felt too woozy and fell backwards onto the cushions. Oralee eventually came out of the bathroom and slept beside him on the couch. In the morning, she left.