The letter arrived without a return address, but she knew exactly who had sent it. The letter arrived without a return address, but she knew exactly who had sent it. Gerald. Her dead husband. Who had been dead for three years, four months, and approximately eleven days. The handwriting was unmistakable that ridiculous loopy G he'd never grown out of, the way he pressed too hard on every vowel like the paper owed him something. Miriam set her tea down very carefully, the way you do when your hands have decided to become completely unreliable. She opened it. """ Mim, The begonias are wrong. You know they're wrong. The south bed gets afternoon shade, not morning. I've been watching you murder them for two seasons and I cannot, in good conscience, stay quiet. Also the cat looks fat. Is she fat? She looks fat. The Netflix password is still Labrador1987 if you forgot. You forgot, didn't you. I'm fine, by the way. It smells like November here, perpetually, which honestly suits me. You know I always liked November. Don't cry. You're doing that thing where your chin goes. Love, G P.S. Check the smoke detector in the hallway. Battery's low. I'd fix it myself but, well. """ Miriam sat with the letter for a long time. Outside, the begonias swayed in the evening breeze, completely incorrect, planted exactly wrong, and somehow still alive out of sheer spite. The cat, Duchess, jumped onto the table and sat on the letter with the confidence of an animal who understood nothing and required nothing of anyone. "He says you're fat," Miriam told her. Duchess blinked. Miriam laughed. It came out strange at first, rusty and reluctant, and then it didn't. She laughed until her eyes went wet, and she didn't bother deciding which emotion was responsible. She wrote back. She didn't know where to send it, so she left the envelope on the kitchen windowsill with a stamp on it, feeling only slightly ridiculous. G, The begonias are FINE. The cat is HEALTHY. I changed the password to something you'd never guess. It's Labrador1987. November sounds about right for you. Love, Mim She left the light on, just in case someone - or something - was still reading.