I get up off the queen-size bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet of the hotel room. This room is costing Andy’s credit card a fortune, but that’s okay. I won’t be here long. I go into the bathroom and I hold up the photograph of Andy’s smiling face. Then I pull out the contents of my pocket. It’s a lighter. I flick the starter until a yellow flame shoots out of it. I hold the flickering light to the edge of the photograph until it catches. I watch my husband’s handsome face turn brown and disintegrate, until the sink is full of ashes. And I smile. My first real smile in almost eight
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