Stories
Three Rows Down, Two Graves Apart
She visited her husband’s grave every Sunday.She always passed the other headstone. Always kept walking.Until the rain, the letter, and ...
The Song in Her Glovebox
She hadn’t taken the cassette out since ’85.The tape was stuck, the radio broken—but the song still played.It was their ...
He Called Me Firefly
She hadn’t heard that name in sixty years.Firefly.The letter came from a hospice bed in Oregon—signed only, From the one who ...
The Seat Beside Her
She always asked for 7A.He always took 7B—close enough to hope, far enough to stay silent.Then one day, she was ...
The Bench by the Rio Grande
He sent her one postcard every year for 49 years.Never got one back.Not even a whisper to say she was ...
The Record She Left Behind
He hadn’t touched the record player since 1969.Not after she vanished into the redwood haze of California.Then, through the static—her ...
The Napkin Left Behind
He came for black coffee and silence.She came for pie—and memories she couldn’t quite name.For years, they sat two booths ...
The Clockmaker’s Promise
She hadn’t stepped foot in his shop in fifty years.But when she placed the watch on the counter, his hands ...
The Envelope She Never Opened
She never said his name after 1971.Just kept one photo on the dresser, and one envelope behind the frame.Her granddaughter ...