BRIAN

I arrived at Daisy's apartment building at eight forty-five on Friday morning. I did not want to be late, but I did not want to push her by knocking on her door early either. I stood on the sidewalk near the black iron front gate, my hands shaking slightly around a white paper bag from the bakery down the street. Inside were two fresh almond croissants and two large black coffees.

My chest felt tight. For two long weeks, I had lived with the constant, terrifying fear that I had broken her trust beyond repair. We had been married before, but that first marriage was built in the middle...