leaned closer to the stone.
“But I would have chosen the truth.”
I stayed there a long time.
I told James everything.
About my parents.
About the little house.
About my job.
About the decades.
About how I never remarried.
About how the yellow dress had remained folded inside a cedar chest all those years.
Eventually, it was time to leave.
I left the fifty-six fresh roses resting across his grave.
But I kept the paper one.
That belonged with me.
It was the only object James had made for
