“I was resting.”
“Then at least let the water boil first.”
I glanced down at the kettle, embarrassed.
She laughed softly, and for a few minutes, the room felt almost normal. Like I was a husband. Like she wasn’t just a roof I was standing under.
Then my phone buzzed with a text from Jesse.
“How’s the retirement plan?”
I glanced at Evie. She was smiling at the mug I’d made her.
“How’s the retirement plan?”
“Damon?” she asked. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, already typing. “Just Jesse being stupid.”
“All good. Once she’s gone, I’m set.”
I hated myself for two seconds.
Then I locked my phone and acted like two seconds of hate was enough.
Three mornings later, Evie dropped a spoon on the kitchen floor.
I turned from the stove. “Evie?”
I hated myself for two seconds.
She gripped the counter. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
“Hey. Look at me.”
I caught her before her head hit the floor.
At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes found me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Her heart failed.”
“She was just eating jam,” I whispered.
“Hey. Look at me.”
The funeral was three days later. I wore the coat she bought me.
Claire, Evie’s niece, saw it first.
“Of course you wore that.”
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