My brother called me at seven in the morning to tell me I had been grieving for too long.
Those were his exact words.
“You’re taking too long to grieve, Grace, and people are starting to talk.”
He said it as if grief came with a schedule, as if losing my husband after twenty-two years together was something I should have wrapped up by now to make everyone else more comfortable. Marriage
I was sitting at my kitchen table when the phone rang, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, watching pale March sunlight slip through the window. Marcus had been gone for eleven months. Eleven months of learning how to live inside a house that had once belonged to both of us, and now felt painfully quiet with only me in it.
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