CHAPTER 24Soul-friend, lover, husband. I had lost all of them four years ago, along with my belief in any of them. There should have been no grief left, now that he was merely dead, and yet at this moment I wanted his physical presence so badly that I felt sick. Driven to my window, in an effort to escape the memories that fed my sickness, I saw I had dropped the yellow ribbon on the floor. Slowly stooping, I picked it up, staring sightlessly at the stained and worn rag.
It was the lover I missed most. I could confess that to myself. And in my vulnerability I also admitted for the first time that it could not all have been lies, our early life together. I put my head out of the window, cooling my desperately flushed skin, wondering yet again exactly when it was he had ceased to love me.
