ON FEBRUARY 14, Josh started drinking wine at noon. Funny that a year ago, he had been a teetotaler. Well. Widowers deserved to drink, especially on a crap day like today. It was dark and sleeting out, the perfect atmosphere for misery. Nothing like New England’s shitty winter weather to underscore the mood. He went into his bedroom and brought the dogwood tree out to the living room and sat it next to the couch.

“Let’s watch our wedding video,” he practically snarled. Great. So he resented the tree now. And why shouldn’t he? It was feeding off his dead wife.

He pulled up the video on the TV. It had been their tradition to watch it on their anniversary. Three whole times. Thanks for killing her, God. If you exist, you’re an asshole. Go ahead, strike me down. I’m ready.

There was Darius, beaming like a proud papa as he walked Lauren down the aisle. Her mother sobbing, Jen beaming, his own mom teary eyed and smiling. Ben looking so dapper as best man.

And Lauren, so full of life and light that she truly did glow. No tears for her that day—she’d been all smiles. The most beautiful expression on her face, solemn yet joyful, as she looked in his eyes and said the words. “I, Lauren Rose Carlisle, take you, Joshua Stellan Park, to be my husband.”

His own voice had been steady and sure that day, and he remembered knowing with every molecule in his body that this was right. They belonged together.

Their first dance hadn’t been slow and romantic. It had been “For Once in My Life” by Stevie Wonder. Happy, bouncy, a song that brought a smile to everyone, and their guests had clapped along as Josh and Lauren spun and laughed and goofed around on the dance floor. No practiced routine for them, no sir. Just pure, unadulterated joy.

And now he was alone, day-drinking and crying. He pulled Pebbles onto his lap and let his tears seep into her soft fur while she licked his head. Just last year, Lauren had left a path of lit candles to their bedroom. It turned out to be the last time they’d made love.

A year. A fucking year without her. He wasn’t proud of himself for surviving it. He would’ve cheerfully died if it were up to him. He should’ve been hit by a bus, and the laughs they’d have in the Great Beyond if that happened . . .

He would never love anyone the way he’d loved her.

It took him some time to notice the red envelope that had been slipped under his door.

Lauren’s handwriting. Happy Anniversary.

A yellow sticky note was attached to the envelope, in different handwriting. There’s one more left after this one. Take care today. —Sarah