I Returned to the Same Diner Every Birthday

I didn’t want to cry in public—not from shame, but because too many people don’t know how to face someone grieving.

At home, I made tea I wouldn’t drink. I set the envelope on the table and watched it as sunlight crossed the floor. The paper was old, edges yellowed, sealed carefully.

Just my name, in Steed’s familiar hand.

I opened it after sunset. The continue reading …