The Last Thing He Told Me

by Laura Dave

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn’t with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again.

How do you explain it when you find in someone what you’ve been waiting for your whole life? Do you call it fate? It feels lazy to call it fate. It’s more like finding your way home—where home is a place you secretly hoped for, a place you imagined, but where you’d never before been.