I felt the world shift under my feet. The phone slipped from my hand. All the memories rushed in at once—his morning coffee routine, the soft way he laughed, the familiar warmth of his hand reaching for mine in the dark.
Even his stubborn habits suddenly felt small compared to the life we had shared. That anger from the café melted instantly into something heavier than grief: regret. Later that day, my daughter took me to the hospital to collect his belongings—his watch, his wallet, and one last thing: an envelope with my name on it.
