“What history?”
“Mine.”
Then he smiled.
“Go rescue the lasagna before Emily burns the house down.”
I let it go.
I had already lost one husband.
When Richard’s final illness came, I no longer cared about mysteries.
I cared about time.
He died five years and three months after our wedding.
I was holding his hand.
Emily was asleep in a chair beside the bed.
Shortly before dawn, Richard opened his eyes.
“Anna?”
“I’m here.”
He struggled to breathe.
I leaned closer.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“When Thomas comes, listen before you hate me.”
My chest tightened.
