What? Clean his house? Become his best friend? No, thanks. He didn’t want anything from Sarah. God help him if she thought she should move in or . . . or cook for him or, oh, God, offer to have his child. Jesus Christ, what was it?

Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, and suddenly, Josh’s heart was convulsing, because he could see his wife’s handwriting.

Josh, #1

“It’s from her, obviously. So I’m just gonna leave this here and go, okay? I don’t know what’s in it, but she said she’d explain. I’m just the delivery person.” She wiped her eyes again. “I’ll . . . I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay. Sure. Thank you.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the envelope. His hands were shaking.

“Take Pebbles out more,” she said, and then she was gone, the door closing behind her, her heels clicking down the stairs.

He didn’t want to open it right now, he thought as he ripped it open. He should save it. He was hyperventilating a little.

Slow down, slow down, this is the last thing you’ll ever get from her, take your time.

Good advice. He should listen to himself. He took a focused breath, like Lauren used to, then blew it out in puffs. Pebbles jumped up next to him, and he took a second to pet her head, feel her silky ears.

Was now the time to read it? Should he save it? He couldn’t. He needed to hear her in his head. Tears were already burning his eyes.

Okay. He would read it. Now. If he could get his hands to stop shaking. He unfolded the paper, and the sight of her handwriting sliced him open.

Dear Josh,

Hi, honey! Are you doing okay? I’m wicked, wicked sorry I died. Oh, Joshua, I am. But I think you know that already. I hope it was a good ending. I hope I didn’t die on the toilet.

I love you. Did I say that yet? I do. I love you so much.

So, honey, here’s the thing. I’ve been feeling like I might not last that long. Hopefully I’m wrong, and you’re reading this at age ninety-seven, but I kind of doubt it. Please know that I stayed as long as I could, because I loved every day with you. Every single day.

I couldn’t bear the thought of you trying to get through this first year without me to help you. I’m bossy, as we both know. So I wrote up some letters for you, one for each month of this first year, each with a thing for you to do. You know how I love making lists. Sarah will bring the letters to you.