At 62, only weeks after burying my controlling husband, I finally did the
one thing he had forbidden throughout our 40-year marriage: I learned to
drive. But when I took his beloved truck out alone and selected the GPS
address saved as “Home,” it led me to the last woman I expected-and
exposed the lie that had shaped my entire adult life.
The house felt unbearably quiet after my husband, Graham, died.
Nearly 2 months had passed, yet I still reached for his coffee mug every
morning. After 40 years together, it was difficult to separate grief from habit.
But losing Graham revealed something more frightening than loneliness.