He was sixty-six.
There had been no long illness.
No warning.
Diane woke up married on a Saturday morning and went to bed a widow that night.
She and Robert had been together since they were nineteen.
Forty-two years.
After the funeral, everyone worried about Diane.
For good reason.
She stopped playing tennis.
Stopped meeting friends for brunch.
Stopped wearing the bright scarves Robert used to tease her about.
For almost a year, she rarely went anywhere except the grocery store, church, and our house.
Ethan responded by trying to protect her from absolutely everything.
At first, it made sense.
He checked her smoke detectors.
Changed the oil in her car.
Installed a video doorbell.
Put emergency contacts beside her refrigerator.
But gradually, helping became monitoring.
If Diane didn’t answer his morning text, Ethan called at lunch.
If she still didn’t answer, he called one of her neighbors.
