I turned the fruit knife over in my hand, then reached for a pear and began peeling it, slow and deliberate, one long spiral at a time.
Once upon a time, Elliot and I had dated for four years before walking down the aisle.
My family and I had poured every dollar and every ounce of effort into propping him up, launching his career to heights he never could have reached alone.
Then, on our fourth wedding anniversary, a new secretary joined his company.
Gladys Fox.
From that point on, he came home later and later. Midnight became three in the morning, and three in the morning became not at all.
My son and I huddled together in that empty house, clinging to each other. Until the day my boy was diagnosed with leukemia.
Throughout all those rounds of chemotherapy at the hospital, Elliot never visited. Not once.
The only time he showed up was while I was overseas on business. He walked into that hospital room and pulled the plug on our son's ventilator.
I rushed back from abroad, desperate, frantic, but I didn't even get to see my child's body. All that was left for me was a handful of ashes that scattered the moment the wind touched them.