The same pills I once viewed as a countdown suddenly terrified me.
One evening, I found her standing in front of the hall closet staring at Thomas’s old coat.
She touched the sleeve gently.
“Do you still miss him?” I asked.
“Every day.”
The answer hurt more than I expected.
Then she turned toward me.
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t room for you.”
I looked away.
There was something in her expression that made me feel exposed.
Evelyn stepped closer.
“You know, people can come into our lives for the wrong reasons and still become important for the right ones.”
My heart stopped.
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She only smiled.
“You’ll understand someday.”
I should have told her everything then.
I should have fallen to my knees and admitted that I had noticed the house before I noticed her loneliness, that I had calculated her age, watched her medicine, and imagined her funeral long before I had earned the right to hold her hand.
But cowardice can survive even after selfishness begins to die.
I said nothing.
