“How I get?”
“About Dad.” She finally looked up. “You still sleep on his side of the bed sometimes. You still have his voicemail saved on your phone. You listen to it when you think I’m asleep. I can hear it through the wall.”
I felt my face get hot.
“You talk about him like he was perfect, Mom. Like the best husband in the world. Every time we drive past the coffee place he liked, you say, ‘Your dad loved that place,’ and your voice gets all soft. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to take that away from you.” She wiped her eyes. “You already lost him once. I didn’t want you to lose him twice.”
Me senté en el suelo. Justo ahí en el pasillo delantero, en la baldosa fría.
“Así que lo llevaste,” dije. “Por ti mismo. Durante dos meses”.
