That night, after settling Callie and Jessica in their cribs, I sat at the kitchen table with the note in one hand and a whiskey in the other. My mother’s protests rang in my ears, but I couldn’t let them drown out the question looping in my mind: What did you do, Mom? I thought back to our family gatherings, and the small barbs my mother would throw Suzie’s way.
Suzie had laughed them off, but I could see now, too late, how they must have cut her. I started digging, both literally and metaphorically. My sorrow and longing for my missing wife deepened as I looked through her things.
