Behind the Venue, My Husband Handed Me a Scrapbook Pulled From the Dumpster

Emma held the memory book to her chest.

David turned to his mother one final time.

“When you’re ready to apologize,” he said, his voice quiet and without heat, “really apologize, you know where we are.”

She did not speak. We walked out past the balloon arch and the glossy printed photographs of Barbara’s smiling face and the security guard who worked continue reading …