my skin.
I sat in my car with the coffee in one hand and my husband’s medication in the other, staring through the windshield without really seeing anything.
Eleven years.
We had been married for eleven years, and I had never imagined that I would sit in a parking lot wondering whether the man sleeping beside me every night was a stranger.
I wanted to call him immediately. I wanted to ask him where he had been, why he had lied, and whether anything else in our life together was
