"It's become an almost daily
ritual. She chooses the wide, soft couch in the living room, because it
holds potent memories of him, of them melded together at dusk. A photo
of him sits shadowed in its frame on the end table next to the lamp,
which stays dark, untouched. She has no need for the light, even as it
honeys and darkens and wanes in shortening shafts across the carpet.
This is her time."
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