I married a stranger I met in a hospital waiting room so he wouldn’t die alone—after just one week of marriage, his lawyer handed me his backpack.

Bench.

Waiting Room.

Hospital Chapel.

At the very bottom sat a battered notebook with bent corners, but I didn’t open it yet.

At the very bottom sat a battered notebook.

The envelopes bothered me more.

I picked up Bus Stop first.

Inside was an old train ticket, softened by age.

On the back, Thomas had written: “She finally went.”

I stared at those words until continue reading …