Inside, I find her sunglasses, vintage Fendi. The pair stares at me from the dining tabletop. As I put them away, I remember when she got them on our trip to Martha’s Vineyard.

That was a happy time. And seeing those sunglasses somehow propels me to think of all the reasons I loved Sophie and how long it has been since I’d seen evidence of those things. How we drifted apart before Aubrey. I know I had a part in it. I was busy. I was wrapped up in the idea that the more I gave to my job, the more I’d get in return. Fuck me. It just meant less time with her. It meant an opportunity to fail in a marriage that I didn’t want to fail. I can see how she fought for us to survive. I really can. She greeted me with a kiss that lingered. She texted me ideas of places we could go. A trip. Restaurants we could try. She made excuses to her folks so that we didn’t have to spend time with them—or rather, so I didn’t have to.

I was an idiot. I was blind to everything. And still she didn’t give up. Sophie was a fighter. She was the kind of person who stood up for others, then herself. Certainly she had mood swings. I wonder now how much of her depression was chemical and how much was caused by me.

We were a sinking ship headed for the bottom of the ocean. I was sleeping on the sofa half the time. We never used the word divorce, but that’s where it was going. I’d stay late at work. Go out with the gang. She’d do the same. I remember I used to come home to an empty house that felt so devoid of any kind of warmth it felt like one of those extended-stay hotels.

And then everything changed.

I came home from work to find the house filled with the smell of Sophie’s famous lasagna. Famous, because I bragged about it constantly to anyone whenever the subject of favorite food came up.

Now that she’s gone, I find myself going back to that night of our new beginning. We laughed about our situation.

“I don’t want a roommate,” she said.

“Me, neither,” I said.

“I’m tired of feeling alone even when I’m in the same room with you, Adam.”

She was crying then, and I put my arms around her and held her.

“How did this happen to us?” I asked.

“Me,” she said. “My fault. I just let the distractions pile up, and when they got so all-encompassing, I just shut down.”

“I’ve got some skin in the game too,” I admitted. “I let things get out of hand at work and here. I forgot what’s important. Yeah, I did.”

After dinner we made love, and I held Sophie all night. We’d found each other again. Our second chance, I thought, would never need a second chance of its own.