breaths instead of tips, wishing for any bargain that could buy us one more month.
When he woke, he only touched my wrist, as if reminding himself that I was real.
At the funeral, his three children stood across from me in matching black coats, like a wall.
People offered condolences, then drifted toward them.
I stood alone beside the casket and cried because I had loved him, and because nobody there believed that I had.
After the final guest left, the lawyer touched my elbow.
“Elena,” he said, “Russell
