I tighten my coat as I step out. The wind is starting to pick up, the temperature dropped as the sun went down, and I can feel the rough breeze and the cold air on my shoulders and neck. I rush into my building. I walk into the elevator. I press the button for the fifth floor. I watch the elevator close and as it does, I close my eyes. When he asks me what happened today, what do I say? How do I tell the truth when I don’t know what it is? I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I jump when the elevator dings and the doors open. Standing in the hallway, right at our front door, is Sam. Beautiful, kind, fractured, heartbroken Sam. “You’re back!” he says to me. “I thought I saw your car pull up in front just now when I was taking out the trash but I wasn’t sure. I . . . I called you earlier, a few times actually, but I never heard from you, so I wasn’t sure when you were coming home.” He wasn’t sure if I was coming home. His eyes are glassy. He’s been crying. He seems to think that if he’s peppy enough I won’t notice.
