true.”
Then the restaurant became strangely quiet.
I heard paper unfolding.
Daniel said one word.
“No.”
And suddenly I knew.
Elliot had found one of Daniel’s old anniversary letters.
For the first ten years of our marriage, Daniel wrote me one every anniversary.
Yellow legal paper.
Folded in thirds.
Messy handwriting.
Claire started reading.
“This house is chaos.”
Daniel tried to stop her.
She continued.
“There are four children under five, a dog that eats socks, and I haven’t slept more than four hours since the twins were born.”
Then:
