crystal wedding vase stood empty on the table.
The fifty-six fresh roses were now with James.
At 11:57, three minutes before our anniversary ended, I carefully placed the single crooked paper rose inside the enormous vase.
Beside it, I placed our wedding photograph.
James in his uniform.
Me in my yellow dress.
Both of us impossibly young.
Laughing.
One brittle little paper flower stood alone in a vase designed to hold dozens.
It looked ridiculous.
And somehow perfect.
I touched one faded petal.
“You were late,” I whispered.
“Fifty-six
