I played it that night in the garage, on my old recorder, with my second wife beside me on an overturned bucket. “If you are hearing this, you are the woman who stayed,” my first wife said. “I never knew your name, but I knew someone would have to love my boy through the hard years.
I am grateful, and you were never in my way.” My wife wept without a sound. Then she took my hand, and we sat until the tape ran out. The next morning she asked me to frame the pie crust recipe, and she hung it in our kitchen herself.
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