After a while, he said, “You have never spoken his name to me.”
It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation. Gentle. Precise.
My stomach clenched.
“I’ve talked about him,” I said, defensive reflex kicking in. “I’ve told you—”
“You have said ‘my husband,’” Evren interrupted softly. “You have said ‘he’ and ‘him’ and ‘we.’ But not his name.”
I looked down at our joined hands. My ring chain was hidden under my dress, the little weight resting against my skin like it always did.
“I try not to say it out loud,” I said, voice roughening. “Anymore.”
“Why?” he asked.
I swallowed hard.
“The first year,” I said slowly, “after the accident… I said it all the time. At home. In the car. In the grocery store. Just… talking. Like he was still in the next room and might answer if I said it enough
