There Was an Extra Place at the Table for My Late Husband—That’s When My Son Went Pale

letter. The paper was thick, slightly yellowed at the edges, covered in Robert’s meticulous handwriting. I could picture him writing this, sitting at some desk somewhere, choosing each word with the same careful deliberation he’d used to write grocery lists and birthday cards.

The letter began simply: Brittney—

Just my name, like he was calling to me continue reading …