She hasn’t forgotten the way he could make her feel small and insignificant, the way that he always talked over her words. But she’s not stupid. She watches her friends and their husbands, and she knows she had it pretty good. He was a gentle man who did his best. Who was as content as she was to have a small, quiet life. What more can you ask? She still catches herself looking into his study, expecting to see him there, grading tests, playing chess, reading. He looks up over the top of his glasses, his hair glinting in the lamplight. All righty, then, he says, and she smiles in return.
