Maybe he had the wrong grave.
Maybe another Sarah was buried nearby.
Maybe he had confused the location.
But then he came back the following Saturday.
And the Saturday after that.
And again the next week.
Always the same day.
Always the same time.
Always the same grave.
Eventually, curiosity became impossible to ignore.
Because Sarah had been gone for fourteen months.
And as far as I knew, I had never seen this man before in my life.
More importantly, I had never heard Sarah mention him.
I Thought I Knew Everything About My Wife
Sarah was forty-three when she passed away.
She had been a pediatric nurse, a devoted mother, and the kind of person who could make a frightened child smile simply by sitting beside them and talking softly.
She was also my best friend.
We had spent years building a life together.
We had two children.
We shared the ordinary struggles of marriage—mortgages, school schedules, grocery shopping, broken appliances, arguments over whose turn it was to take out the trash.
