Twenty-Seven Years and I Had Never Once Wondered What Was Underneath the Chair He Sat In Daily
Twenty-seven years. That was how long I had been married to him. Twenty-seven years of knowing the sound of his footsteps in the hallway. Knowing how he took his coffee. Knowing which shirts he would wear on Fridays. Knowing that he liked the television two clicks louder than everyone else. Knowing exactly which chair he…