Full Stories Three Suitcases Left by the Front Door of a Nine Year Marriage

I closed the phone and slipped it into my pocket.

Ethan looked up from his book, pointing a small finger toward the picture of a dinosaur standing tall in a sunlit prehistoric forest.

“Look, Mom,” he said, his voice bright and clear in the warm kitchen.

“The horns are to protect the babies, right?”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” I said, leaning down to kiss the crown of his hair.

“That’s exactly what they’re for.”

Outside, the carpenters called out to each other as they laid the fresh cedar rafters, sealing the home against the coming winter rain.

I adjusted the silver band of my wristwatch, poured a cup of black coffee that smelled rich and sweet on the counter, and stood by the window to watch the leaves fall quietly onto the clean grass.