o c t o b e r 2 0 1 8 1 1 1 of all the men I could have picked, I chose him. “He’s a good man,” I said, and he has been for the most part. I’m glad he’s asleep, in the chair. I can keep an eye on him here. Last winter, outside our living room win- dow, I spied a small oak branch that had de- tached itself from its mother tree and fell, where it nestled into the wide branch of a pine tree. I cheered for those branches to rock each other throughout the snow months. The oak branch finally slipped and fell in the spring, where it was carted away on yard waste day. Call me superstitious, but I think the resolve of those branches to stick together through the worst of it was part of the reason my husband made it back to me. Old age isn’t pretty, I know, but it’s something. That’s why I was happy when I found what I thought was the red leaf. I’ll have to keep looking now for something else tough enough to hold on despite the fact it’s bro- ken. I know it isn’t an easy thing to do. n MorganCallanRogersistheauthoroftwonovels,RedRuby HeartinaColdBlueSeaandWrittenonMyHeart.Shelivesin theWestEndofPortland.