I did not begin crying until I reached the interstate.
For twenty minutes, I drove through the darkness with both hands locked around the steering wheel. My purse rested on the passenger seat, the envelope safely inside it.
Highway lights passed across the windshield in pale golden stripes.
My phone rang continuously from the cup holder.
Daniel.
Caroline.
An unknown number.
Daniel again.
Vanessa.
I ignored every call.
At a rest area outside Columbia, I parked beneath a flickering lamp and finally allowed myself to breathe.
My hands shook so badly that I pressed them against my lap.
I was sixty-two and had survived much harder nights.
I had survived my husband leaving with our savings and a woman from his office.
I had survived selling my wedding ring to pay for Daniel’s dental surgery.
I had survived working double shifts at St. Anne’s Medical Center while taking night classes to maintain my nursing license.
