“On My 62nd Birthday, A Stranger Bought Me Dessert With A Candle. I Woke Up Alone To A Photograph Of Myself Asleep, And A Note: ‘Forgive Me For What I Did Afterward.’ Then I Found My Safe Empty, And A Second Photograph On My Table: The Stranger Standing Beside My Own Son. On The Back: ‘Your Son Arranged All Of This.’”

door with a cake, and half a dozen old friends I’d lost touch with came later in the day, because my daughter had called every one of them. Mark sent a card. It said only: I’m sorry. I’m still working. I didn’t answer yet. But I kept it on the kitchen table, beside the candle from the dessert that Daniel had ordered, which I’d never been able to throw continue reading …