I woke up to find myself alone in the room. In fact, my husband’s side of the bed did not even look slept in. I looked at my desk, where papers were strewn, pages of a book I had been trying to work on. Was it my imagination or had my desk collected dust overnight?I crossed the hallway mirror. I noticed something odd about it, but I couldn’t place my finger on what it was. Through the French windows, I saw my husband. He was bent over a – a grave! A grave in my backyard? There was an open notebook on the grave and some wilted flowers. I walked closer.He did not stir as I approached. He seemed to have slept off, right there on the grave. Then I saw it – my name on the gravestone. None of this made sense. I had so much work to do. I couldn’t be dead, not yet. When was the last time I told him that I loved him? I picked up the notebook.“You left,” he had written, “leaving me alone and a part of me incomplete. I hope you know how much I love you.”I do not know if tears had welled up in my eyes. I tried to stroke his hair. Then I realized what was odd about the hallway mirror. I hadn’t been able to see myself in it.
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