Over the years, it became our private joke.
One terrible red light had somehow given us twenty-seven years together.
We told people the general story of how we’d met.
But Daniel had always hated admitting that he had actually run the light.
That detail stayed between us.
At least, I thought it had.
Yet Monica knew.
That night, I tried to convince myself that Daniel must have told her after she moved next door.
Maybe it meant nothing.
I was too exhausted to keep thinking about it.
Before sunrise the
