He even had his own key.
She knew our daily routines, she knew where we kept the spare bed linens and in which kitchen cupboard Robert's favorite mugs were kept.
It never seemed strange to me.
After all, it was Susan.
The girl who shared her sandwiches with me in elementary school.
The woman who had been by my side through every difficult stage of my life.
The friend she had trusted for forty-two years.
Then Robert died.
And my whole world changed.
Losing him left a void I couldn't explain.
Our house suddenly seemed enormous and painfully silent.
His favorite armchair was still by the living room window.
His jacket was still hanging exactly where he had left it.
I couldn't force myself to change anything.
I stopped attending social gatherings.
He ignored the phone calls.
Some mornings I struggled to find a reason to get out of bed.
People tried to help me, but I usually pushed them away.
